Reminisce
by Dark Austral
Summary: “You left a part of yourself back in the pit,” Alistair spat out, leaning forward to meet Dean’s confrontation. “Let’s see if we can get…the two of you back together again.”
1. Chapter 1

Disclaimer: I don't own the awesomeness that is Dean, Alistair, Castiel and the show its' self. It's all Kirpike's. All the quotes belong to the geniuses who are the writers.

A/N: I blame my roommate and season 4 for making me an addict to this show. And now I blame "On the Head of a Pin" for biting me with a plot bunny sparking my first SPN fic. That episode blew my expectations out of the water and more so. Anyways, I'm still sad that Alistair is no more and since there are not a lot of fic on him, I wrote this bad boy. It's a bit of a tag on the episode, filling the blanks and such. So enjoy!

**The Old Reminisce**

The moment the door clanged open and the jangle of a metal cart rolling in pulled the demon out from under his semi-restful state. Being chained upright to a devil's trap in this damp room did little in impressing him. The angels tried to interrogate him via threats, electricity and burning him with their grace. But they lacked the skills and motivation. Especially the one with piercing blue eyes and wearing that damn trench coat. The blinding rage of ripping that angel to pieces was one of the few things that kept him patient here as a prisoner. In the end, it was all kinda pathetic really.

Raising the exhausted head of his dead host, cause one the first things the demon had done was torture the human soul to death, inquisitive sea-blue eyes sparked to life at seeing the slumped figure behind the cart.

They sent him; it was like sending a lamb into the slaughterhouse. The one single person Alistair wanted to torture. The one person that made going topside worth every second.

"Heaven. I'm in heaven…" Crooning out his favorite song, tapping bare feet against the ice-cold cement floor, the demon watched for any reactions from the young man. It was strange seeing this one soul in a meat suit up here in this Arctic-crap hole when they had grown so close in Hell. Yearning filled him briefly. How he longed for the suffocating sulfur and ash filled air with flames licking all around him. And lets not forget all those pretty screaming souls tied up on endless racks, each begging to be tortured for their sins.

As his favorite pulled away the coverings revealing all types of instruments, Alistair's chuckles rumbled into a sinister, hearty laughter. Oh, the angels never cease to amaze him. Really, did they think that this tortured soul would succeed where they failed? Then again, Alistair grinned slightly. The dull light darkening his long hallowed face casting a familiar demonic glow. He knew it was only a matter of time till they retrieved his wayward student.

The said man stepped up to the trap, face tilted downwards. The demon could smell the poor attempt of trying to not to tremble. Yet, the moment those green eyes lifted and locked themselves straight at him, Alistair felt pride stir within his blood-drenched soul. No trace of the former fear was present. That stone-chiseled, emotionless face and dead green eyes was an expression Dean wore during the first year when he began to torture souls. But over time, as the guilt and self-loathing vanished under Alistair's carefully administrated words of encouragement and praise, those dead eyes flared to black flames of pleasure.

"You got one chance. One. Tell me whose killing the angels. I want a name."

Taking in the glacier tone, Alistair wanted to smack his student. Really? After forty years together side by side, did Dean learn anything about his teacher? Didn't he learn how much Hell's top torturer wanted nothing to do with the outside, content with his studies?

"You'll spill your guts, I just didn't want to ruin my shoes."

And there it was, that dark humor he loved about Dean lacing the quip. Humming in agreement, Alistair cast his eyes downward to hide his joy that maybe not all was lost with this soul. The one that had taken him thirty years to break and ten years to shape into the perfect heir before being torn away and corrupted by an annoying winged freak.

A plan began to formulate in his mind as Dean leaned in a bit further, demonstrating that he was not afraid to be here. Raising his own head, Alistair locked eyes with Dean seeing the haunted look behind the mask. The ex-young demon was skilled with tools, but he had yet to learn the true skill of a master torturer. Narrowing his eyes, Alistair wanted to burst out laughing at the irony. The angels thought they had sent Dean in to torture him and Dean clung to that hope. But no, he would turn the tables and show this youngster, the angels and the rest of the world just why he was the Grand Inquisitor of Hell.

"You left a part of yourself back in the pit," Alistair spat out, leaning forward to meet Dean's confrontation. "Let's see if we can get…the two of you back together again." Cut number one.

Sniffing, he could smell the sulfuric nightmares that plagued Dean's mind spilling forth from the gaping hole where a piece of his soul was missing. The Winchester had left a part of himself down there, the demon part. Alistair could remember as if it was yesterday.

_He and Dean were working on two serial killers that were partners when they were alive. Alistair was showing a new move involving a burning hot red spoon—Dean's idea—while his student watched his movements soaking in every motion as he hovered over his own victim itching to practice. Alistair waited to hear the screams as Dean rubbed the heated spoon into the man's stomach but nothing came. Turning, he quickly shielded his eyes at the blinding figure of light with wings stretched out stood before him. _

_Outside the chamber, the murderous yells of demons announced a battle occurring with flashes of light revealing the appearance of other angels. With dark green almost black eyes, Dean struggled against the angel, whose hand was pressed roughly into his upper right arm. Alistair lunged forward grabbing Dean's other arm, rage at the intrusion making him oblivious to the fire that consumed him. The boy was his! His! _

"_No," answered a detached voice, blue eyes flashing in righteousness. Alistair pulled hard falling onto the ground, but the angel's strength was too much with the powerful flap of its majestic wings. Dean let out a bloodcurdling scream, the most soul breaking scream Alistair ever heard, as he was ripped out of Alistair's hold. And as quickly as it had begun, the battle outside ceased. No angel or Dean was present in the room. _

_Shuddering in blacking rage, Alistair staggered to his feet eyes flooding white with fury. Taking a step forward, he was ready to chase after the angel when he felt a soft wisp of smoke touch his arm. Glancing down, white eyes widened with shock at seeing a small black smoky form tremble weakly. Reaching out, Alistair gently ran his blood soaked fingers causing the young, barely existing demon to shake even more. In the briefest moment, he sensed an all too familiar blood lust fill his mind. This was Dean, the part of the Winchester's soul that had become a demon. It had been ripped away during the struggle and was now clinging to life. Turning softly, Alistair cradled the part of Dean's soul that had remained in Hell. With a flick of his fingers, a wicker basket appeared on the table next to his tools. Laying down the wisps of smoke, Alistair ran his hand over it once more to reassure it. The tainted soul would live as long as Dean did, but it would never progress any further without being reunited with its owner. _

_"Don't worry little one, daddy is going to help you." The smoke seemed to cease its trembling at the sound of Alistair's voice. Feeling satisfied, the Master of Pain reached out and grabbed the nearest knife. A few seconds later, he made sure both souls felt the full extent of his rage of losing his favorite student_.

Blinking, Alistair found himself back in the present, watching Dean sort out the tools as if he was preparing to cook. The movements were ingrained in the boy. So professional, Dean looked as if he was made for this purpose. In a sense he was, Alistair had made sure of it. The demon continued his verbal torture but nothing was spurring the boy he knew inside and out literally for 40 years. Frustration began to lash out in his words. Alistair was usually a patient person, but this detached mood from Dean was not working in his favor.

All of his hard work gone in a flash leaving nothing but this emotional hunter that was balancing on the head of a pin. But, the fear was still there. He knew how Dean would snarl curses when it was drowning him. He saw it in all those too brief encounters before his capture. The surprise then angry glares shot at him to appease Sam. Alistair would show his affection in turn by hurting Dean first, chocking, punching, and throwing him or his new favorite: shooting him with rock salt. Then the fear would be back and he would smile in pure bliss. Alistair never did get tired of Dean's struggle to remain strong.

Pausing, the demon lowered his voice to a twisted purr, "Then what about all the things I did to your _Daddy_." Stressing the last word, Alistair watched with dark satisfaction as cut number two provoked a reaction.

Raising his head, Dean looked straight ahead. Both men knew how much Dean had father issues. And both knew that the bait of knowing what had happened to the elder Winchester was too irresistible. But poor, stubborn Dean kept the mask of indifference on and continued setting up.

So Alistair poured more salt to the wound by reminiscing about John Winchester and the same deal. Once again, Dean asked about those stupid angels, but he pulled the same ignoring routine Dean was trying to do. One of his first lessons he had taught the boy, ignore what your victim is saying. Yet the conflict arose in that Dean had to pay attention if he wanted to get the information on who was killing the angels. Such a predicament was tearing Dean up on the inside and it was one Alistair was using to his advantage.

"Daddy's little girl, he broke in thirty," dark pleasure curled themselves around those words hammering home how weak Dean was. The slam of the liquor bottle made Alistair smile, knowing that he was slowly chipping away the armor Dean had built around himself. "Now we're getting somewhere."

Dean pushed onwards, pouring holy water into a metal cup. Growing impatient at how slow his student was taking, Alistair moaned out loud, "Grasshopper, you're gonna have to get creative to impress me."

Then there it was. Dean turned fully, that detached look cracking revealing a darker side to the hunter. "I dreamt of this moment," came the whispered statement before fixating back onto his work.

Alistair fought back the devilish grin that wanted to spread itself across his features. Keeping his cold gaze onto Dean, he waited with baited breath at what the hunter would do.

"And believe me," green eyes shot up, driving home his point as Dean filled a syringe with holy water, "I got a few ideas."

The dark blue orbs watched with sick fascination as water spilt into the plastic tube. Injecting holy water into a possessed body…Alistair felt the blood drain from his face as a trickle of fear froze across his features. The process would be slow and burning, not to mention last a long time considering it was impossible to remove water from ones' blood. There was nothing he could do.

The brat was more creative then he let on in the Pit.

As those shoes marched towards him, Alistair braced himself against the metal star, grateful for its' support. Pride and apprehension swirled beneath his stoic features. Soaking in the shadowed green eyes and the glinting of the needle, Alistair heard words he never thought he would hear again. Words Dean always said in a subdued delightful tone to his newest victim.

"Let's get started."

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A/N: I hope you all enjoyed. I had to break up this story cause it just kept on going. So I have a second part all ready to go and hopefully will post it soon. Thanks for reading!


	2. Chapter 2

A/N: Thanks for all the great reviews!!! And like I promised, here's the second part. But here's the thing, I think I opened Pandora's box. This story just keeps pouring out of me (Great now I sound like Chuck ;). So yeah, don't know how long this going to be. Just buckle in and enjoy the ride! And thanks again for the reviews!

**A dish best served cold**

Burning. His existence became an inferno with fires beyond Hell obliterating his very essence. Head jerking left and right, eyes wide and jaw jarred open in a permanent scream, Alistair couldn't help but think that this was it. Some snot-nosed, know-it-all, tainted child of Azazel would kill him. He should have seen it coming from a million miles away. Dean had killed Azazel even though that yellow-eyed pompous freak had corrupted Sam. And now Sam was killing him for having tortured and corrupted Dean.

His laughter collapsed into a painful scream as Sam's powers pushed him even further into the brink of alienation. Pulling himself together deep within the dead host, Alistair searched with unholy white eyes the world outside the fires. He spotted the weak angel eyeing Sam with fear and awe as blood trickled down his forehead. At least he made the angel bleed this time. Their fight was what should have happened down in the Pit, fists and blood and victory on the cusp of Alistair's lips. But then dear, little _Sammy_, Alistair spat out the name, came barging in and ruined his fun.

Then there he was, the one person Alistair wanted to see before he died. Dean's limp, bleeding form lay unconscious within the trap in all its horrific beauty. Alistair narrowed his eyes in glee, arrogance pushing the blinding pain into the back of his mind. His stomach ached in remembrance of feeling Dean stab slowly into him, his face twitching to try and hide the smile that wanted to burst forth. Those dark green eyes soaking in every cringe Alistair had made as if burning the memory into his tormented mind.

"_I—groan—carved you into a—new animal Dean," whispered Alistair. "There is no going back."_

_For the briefest second as Dean pushed the cursed blade further into him, the Torturer saw his favorite student in the flesh. "Maybe you're right," a dark smile crept upon Dean's haunted face, "But now it's my turn to carve."_

_Alistair smiled back and for a moment they were no longer the torturer or the tortured, enemies on opposing sides but teacher and student. A student on the verge of surpassing his mentor as Dean sunk the blade even further, leaning in to bask in Alistair's suppressed screams._

_Yet Alistair was not ready to share his throne. So he initiated the final cut, revealing to Dean that he was the first to break the seal. He had to hand it to the boy whose back was turned to his. Dean hadn't lashed out or broken down, just turned and walked away. Eying the back, Alistair could read Dean like a book. The hunter was in shock and he could picture the disbelief running through those green eyes._

_With all the cracks in the right places, Alistair blew softly on the shell that was Dean Winchester. In a rare show of compassion towards his student, his voice carried like a comforting hand onto Dean. "Believe me son…I wouldn't lie about that." Turning his head, he spotted water dripping from a nearby pipe and gazed down to the floor, where a tiny break in the seal was being washed into creation._

_Closing his eyes, he felt his demon powers tremble underneath his fingers. Disappearing through the chains like smoke, he appeared behind Dean just in time to hear his student state in a resolute tone, "You won't be there to see it."_

_How sweet, mused Alistair, Dean putting his revenge before saving the world. The pure shock on Dean's face was water to his parched throat. Without wasting time, Alistair slammed his fist into Dean's face, knocking the boy onto the ground. Leaning back, he took a deep breath letting his pleasure of causing people pain flood him. Dean especially was like an exotic drug he would never tire of. Things were set right when he held his student by the throat against the star, Dean's green eyes bloody and resigned. Just like they were meant to be, Dean on the rack at the mercy of Alistair's hands and by the boy's lack of fighting he knew the hunter knew it as well._

_This was their home, their existence: one in bondage, the other administrating the pain. They were back in Hell, side by side and no winged pricks were going to save Dean this time._

_Yet once again that damn angel appeared to the rescue. Fine by him, Alistair wanted payback anyway before he returned to Hell with his prize. But his luck ran out with the appearance of Samuel Winchester._

Finding himself pinned to the wall, body twitching back and forth, a heat building in his chest from the unholy fire surrounding him, Alistair fought to keep his gaze on Dean. At least, not all was lost in his death. There was something going on with the angels for them to be dying, which was a huge bonus to the demon side. Yet the blood on the point of a blade was Dean's shattered soul. To break the hunter one last final time was his dying wish. Now, no one could have him.

Dean was his once more.

Alistair let the laughter burst out of him merging with his scream as the heat within erupted in a bright flash of light. His last thought was on Dean's broken body lying on the concrete, mingled with those dark demonic-like eyes soaking in his pain.

"_That's my boy_."

Sam lowered his hand, panting slightly from the ordeal. The rush of dark power thundered loudly in his ears. He had done it. Finally, he Samuel Winchester was on par with demons that threatened his family. No one was going to threaten his loved ones anymore, not while he was around. Sam took in another shuddering breath as Ruby's blood darkened his vision as the world became clear.

Alistair's meat suit was lying on its' side, a collapsed pile of bones. Wide eyes were frozen in permanent fear and pain. Hazel eyes drowned themselves into demonic pleasure that pulsed the same searing heat as the black blood staining his body. Alistair, the wanna-be Marlon Brando, was dead. No more sadistic demon getting his kicks on by torturing Dean. This vile monster deserved eons of twisted, searing white pain to barely make up everything his older brother had to suffer for forty years.

Regret began to seep in Sam. He shouldn't have killed Alistair, no; he should have prolonged the agonizing burning longer. He should have—

The shift of tanned shoulder pierced the haze. Tilting his head towards the motion, the demon blood sizzled within his veins at the holy sight before him. Black fading from his eyes, humanity returned in the color of hazel upon the chiseled face of the youngest Winchester. Fear flickered betraying Sam's strong demeanor. Dean had warned him countless times that the angels wouldn't hesitate in stopping him from using his powers. Yet, here he was using this gift and curse to kill a demon right in front of an angel. It was suicidal but Sam didn't care. It was all for Dean.

Castiel limped towards him, blood caking on his temple from a nasty wound he had received under Alistair's punch. Shoulders slumping forward, the angel of the Lord appeared small and weak before Sam's towering posture. Noticing the weaken position, Sam blinked, shoulders relaxing slightly. If Castiel was going to kill him, he would have done so already. Instead, this great angel that Dean befriended appeared to be battle worn and crushed underneath the weight of guilt and concern.

Guilt for getting Dean involved, concern for what Sam didn't know yet. Either way, it was addicting to taste that fear and defeated posture coming from this winged creature. If only Sam knew that it was the demon blood whispering sin into his ear. Oozing confidence, the tall hunter seemed posed to inflict the rest of his rage of this ridicules event at the angel. Castiel had led his brother blindly into this mess, forcing Dean to become 'Master Torturer' all over again.

The blood hissed with promise that it was still strong to vanquish this winged dick back up to heaven. They were nothing but a thorn in his side when it came to protecting Dean. Fighting back the urge to smile, Sam's nostrils flared slightly taking in the stench of a rotting corpse, freshly spilt blood and the crisp winter air that accompanied the angel.

The angel paused, shifting slightly forward as he raised a hand to touch gingerly at his head wound. It was then that Sam noticed the round oval of blood spreading outwards from Castiel's back. The wound was clearly a stab wound. Eyes flickering upwards, he spotted the weapon: an overturned hook on the cement pillar dripping red liquid.

A memory of Alistair pinning Castiel like a coat onto the hook flashed briefly in his mind. His lower back throbbed in remembrance of an old stab wound. A wound made because he had been too weak and naïve to kill the soldier. It had cost him his life and Dean's soul. It had been the worst mistake he had ever made in his life, a mistake he was trying to rectify by killing as many demons as he could and protect Dean in drinking demon blood.

The enemy had forced him into a corner and like any scared and protective animal, he lashed out with everything he had. Closing his eyes, Sam took in a shuddering breath as his rage towards the angel disappeared with a shared wound.

"Samuel."

A soft, croaked voice splintered the darkness with a piercing ray of light. Opening his eyes slightly, the said hunter soaked in the mess of the poor man whom Alistair possessed. In the silence, he etched in every bloodstain, cuts and burns upon the pale flesh. Had he done all that? Or had it been Dean?

Dean.

Full-blown concern doused the fire of the adrenaline rush. Back straightening, eyes wide with panic, Sam jerked his head around the room. Searching for the all-familiar slender form of his brother leaning against the wall, mouth posed open to launch an attack of curses and anger for using his powers. That was what Sam expected to see of Dean. Yearning to hear the retort, Sam did not expect to see the crumbled form of his older brother lying prone on the ground.

"Dean!"

Sprinting forward, Sam collapsed onto his knees. Placing his large hands on Dean's shoulders, he rolled the unconscious man onto his back. Holding him close, Sam's eyes immediately assessed the condition of his brother. Half of Dean's face was bruised and bloody from enduring a multitude of punches. His right eye was swollen shut. Fingers pressed gently onto Dean's throat erupting forth a chocked moan. Moving his hand quickly away, Sam's face twitched with barely suppressed rage. Dean's throat was bruised, as if someone had straggled him.

"Why you," hissed Sam, the demon blood boiling up inside of him once more. Hands digging into Dean's blue shirt, he barely heard the hiss of pain coming from below. Easing onto his feet, Sam was like a coiled snake. "Where were you?" trembled a dark voice. "You were supposed to watch him!"

Spotting a familiar discarded knife, Sam's hand quietly inched forward. He was going to make that angel pay for hurting Dean. Just as his fingers brushed the hilt, a hand laid softly onto his shoulder. Something soothing spread through his body banishing the blinding yellow rage.

"Sam, Dean needs help."

The quiet voice spoke to the logical side of Sam's mind. Eyes gazed back down at Dean's battered form hearing the strained, haggard breathes. Why hadn't he seen it before? Forgetting about the knife, the little brother in Sam took hold of his mind. Scooping up Dean as if he was a child, Sam sprung to his feet. He barely felt Castiel's hand fall limply off his shoulder. A new rush took hold of him, but one of pure white springing forth from the undiluted love of one brother to another.

Sam's eyes swept across the room, spotting the nearest door. He took a step forward, hearing the scraping of metal against cement. Looking down, he took in Ruby's knife lying there glinting with temptation. Swallowing, Sam forced himself to look upwards where a cart filled with knives, holy water, salt, a saw and other unmentionables were laid out with a surgeon's organization.

Was all of this Dean's doing? Fear crept up his spine. What had become of his brother?

"Sam," the otherworldly voice spoke of urgency.

Turning, Sam's wide hazel eyes shimmered with a collision of fear, worry and love. Blue eyes forced themselves to become serene, hiding the raging sea of uncertainty underneath.

"You must hurry." Castiel's head tilted downwards, a stern mask falling into place, "I will take care of this."

Within a blink of an eye, Sam found himself sitting in the Impala with Dean lying propped up on the back seat. The image of a bloody Dean in the rearview mirror brought forth urgency. Not wanting to remember how the scene seemed eerily similar to another with Dad sitting next to him right before a semi hit them, Sam roared the Impala to life.

Speeding down the highway, Sam couldn't believe that there were no other cars on the highway or police for that matter. Even the Impala seemed to sense the urgency and drove even faster than ever before. It was if he was on angel's wings. Skidding to a halt in front of the hospital, Sam leapt out of the car, opening the side door as nurses flew out to see the commotion. Gripping Dean, Sam carried his brother into the emergency room.

"Someone help me! My brother needs medical attention now!" The nurses flew all about him like a flock of doves. In all the scuttle of white and blue, Dean was removed carefully from Sam's death iron grip and onto a gurney.

"ER now. We've got a severe concussion, internal bleeding and a possible crushed windpipe," stated a doctor amongst the chaos.

A nurse who begged him to sit down on the green chair pushed Sam off to the side. In the background, Sam could hear the questions begin with "What happened to your brother?"

"How long has he been like this?"

"Any medical ailments or conditions we need to know of?"

Sam shook his head to the last question, eyes locked onto the disappearing figure of his brother. A small petite hand land gently, pulling his eyes downwards. It was then; Sam realized that he has shaking badly. Taking in deep breaths, the youngest Winchester sent a small smile of gratitude to the nurse before focusing back on the closed doors of the ER.

Nodding in understanding, the blond hair beauty smiled back with a mother's love. "I'll come back later." Patting his hands, she brushed a strand of hair away from Sam's face. "You're brother is in good hands. Dean's a fighter." The blaring of an intercom masked the tale-tale rustling of wings.

Sam's face pinched in shock. He hadn't told anyone their names yet. Jerking his head to the side, Sam's body slid into fight mode but the nurse was no longer present by his side. Blinking, hazel eyes searched the crowd, but the blond nurse was nowhere to be seen. Swallowing, the hunter reached upwards to brush his hair back. The moment his fingertips touched where the nurse had, a tingle shot down his arm. For a brief second all he felt was comfort and love wrap him in a mother-like embrace.

Lowering his hand, Sam sighed deeply clinging onto the too-short warmth. Bending forward, he propped his arms onto his legs, folding his hands onto one another. Bowing his head, Sam's face was covered by his bangs, creating a shadowed asylum from the bustling world outside. Alone with his thoughts, the tainted Winchester whispered a silent pray to a God he found himself questioning.

He couldn't lose Dean again.

Not again.

Not so soon.

"Please, I beg you, let Dean be ok. Please."

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A/N: And there we go! I hope I'm keeping these guys in character. Either way, hopefully I can update the next one soon. Take care!


	3. Chapter 3

Disclaimer: I don't own Supernatural. Dean, Cas and Sam belong to Kripke, which is a good thing. Trust me.

A/N: Thanks again for the reviews! They really spur me onwards to write. Sadly it's making me regret my other stories, but that's ok! Till the new episodes come back, this is going to be my fix.

**Brothers beyond Blood**

Dean jerked awake, eyes wide with fear. Eyes scanning the small hospital room, he fought to control his panic as words whispered in permanent replay in his head.

"_The first seal shall be broken when a righteous man sheds blood in hell."_

"_We owe it all to you…Dean Winchester."_

"_As he breaks, so shall it break."_

"_That's my boy_."

The broken record sounded like Alistair was standing right next to him, his head lowered right against Dean's ear. The rotten egg smell spilled out from that mouth full of needled teeth.

"_Dean, Dean, Dean, you know you want to get off. Come on, son, just say yes and I'll take you off. You only have to start it. That's all_…" White-eyes stare intensely into his weeping eyes burning with unholy glee, as the voice lisped with unhidden bliss, "_I promise_."

Squeezing his eyes tightly at the nightmare, fingers scrabbled against the hospital sheets and in the background, Dean heard the monitor pick up in response to his pounding heart. Trying to will his shaking body back under control, Dean took in a ragged breath, eyes cringing in pain as the precious air brushed against bruised muscles. Amongst the watery veil, he noticed the large hunched form of his brother passed out in the all too small green chair. Arm propped on the table, head cushioned on the hand, Sam looked exhausted. Dean's heart began to slow engraving the innocent picture of his little brother. Such peaceful minutes had become dim memories since his trip to the Pit. Eyes sliding shut in comfort that Sammy was next to him and not somewhere else, Dean clung to the image as he drifted back into the drug laced night.

The credits began to roll. Like a horror movie, memories played out. It rain punches down upon his too solid flesh. As his back was rammed into the unforgiving metal of the star, Dean felt his reality shatter as a crack and a sharp white pain filled his mind as the cold hand closed in over his throat.

He was back on the rack. The familiarity of the metal, chains dangling and Alistair's lisping voice slicing through his soul like a dagger. As the fight left him, Dean surrendered to his tormenter, hoping that he would be taken off the rack. He wouldn't complain this time, wouldn't hesitate and even pretend to like it right away. Just no more pain.

Eyes rolling back in his head, the last thought Dean could think of was that he was alone, with no angel coming to rescue this time and his brother too busy focusing on his demon girlfriend. This was what he had been trying to tell everyone, but no one believed him. He wasn't meant for this life as a hero, not anymore. He belonged in Hell. That was his home now. Even topside, Dean couldn't escape it, so why keep running. Those 40 years, all the screams and blood had seeped into his pores to the point where they couldn't be removed.

"_You got a lot to learn boy. So, I'll see you. Back in class. Bright and early. Monday morning_." Alistair's rising, mocking voice only sealed the fate Dean accepted with a weary heart. He was tired, bone and soul tired. Going back to class where Alistair could make all the decisions for him, not rush him or thrust him into a fight he didn't want to fight seemed like a twisted heaven. Heck, even those arrogant remarks and the pride that would shimmer in Alistair's white eyes as he did something to please his teacher would be a welcome change to the pity, confused, angry, threatening and disgusted looks Castiel, Uriel and even Sam always shot at him.

Deep down, Dean realized that he wanted this. If Alistair killed him now, then he wouldn't have to worry about the apocalypse or the guilt of knowing he started the whole mess. Sure, he would know back down in the Pit, but there wouldn't be anything he could do about it. No 'God has work for you' expectations. All it would be is 'Make her scream' or 'Make him remain conscience a bit longer' or 'Which one, the rusted barbed wire or hot red metal balls?'

Dean didn't notice Castiel barging in or Alistair releasing his grasp. As blackness covered his vision, Dean collapsed onto the ground, hearing the screams of Hell welcoming him back home.

Drowning in the screams of his own, of others and now Alistair's, Dean curled into a ball in the far reaches of his shattered soul. The remains glittered like broken glass eerily reminding him of the time in the motel where Castiel had tried to talk to him a second time but ended up shattering all the windows and the mirrors on the ceiling.

Castiel.

The name brought a soft whisper of a summer breeze trailing down his marked arm slowly pulling him away from the nightmares of Hell. Dean couldn't help but wonder if this was what it was like being raised from Hell the first time. He still couldn't remember what exactly happened. All he knew was that it resulted in him leaving a piece of himself down in the Pit.

Feeling sanity return to him briefly, Dean cracked opened his eyes knowing Castiel was sitting next to him in a chair before seeing him with his blurred vision. Blinking a few times, he took in the ragged form of the angel. He seemed to be doing ok, considering he didn't see any wounds. But there was something different about Castiel. The confident, blind faith the angel always emitted was a dull flame compared to the first time they had met in the barn.

What had happened? With his head tilted back, resting against the chair, Castiel looked like a lost sheep looking for its shepherd.

"Are you alright?" Castiel's voice spoke softly with that annoying calm tone, yet underneath concern cracked slightly.

Body tingling with phantom pains, Dean shifted his focus back to the front, fixating on the blank wall of the hospital room. Grasping on his torn but stubborn will, Dean tried to lash out with a non-existent anger but it came out as a croak. "No thanks to you."

The two fell into a growing familiar bickering of words with Castiel trying to apologize while Dean shot back a smart-ass comeback. Yet something was different this time. The energy always present wasn't there. Both too tired and soul troubled, Dean fell silent while a haunted look flashed briefly on Castiel's face. Dean took in the troubled look, curious at what had happened between his beating with Alistair and waking up in the hospital.

All his questions were answered when Castiel fixed his eyes somewhere in the room, not wanting to make contact with Dean. "Uriel's dead."

Uriel the trigger-itching angel was dead. Fear began to rise in Dean. From their brief and heated exchanges, he could only begin to imagine how powerful the dark-skinned angel was and to hear that he was dead was not good news. The mystery only deepened when Castiel stated that his brother had died due to disobedience. Picking his words carefully, those blue eyes turned and locked themselves onto Dean. "He was working against us."

_Us_. Dean swallowed and broke the contact. It was his turn to look elsewhere. Did Castiel truly consider themselves to be part of a team? Even after everything that had happened, Dean wanted to scream at the angel for not watching his back, for making him go into that room to begin with, for not standing up to Uriel. Yet all he could hear was Castiel's soft voice shimmering with regret. "_I would give anything for you not to do this._"

Swallowing once more to fight back the images of Alistair's leering smile in front of him, Dean knew that he had to ask the angel. The strong voice of the demon echoed loudly in his mind with those ancient words. He couldn't relay this to Sam, not ever. The burden already on his little brother's shoulders with the whole demon blood was too much. He had to spare Sam this knowledge, to not let his brother know how broken Dean truly was.

"Is it true?" Dean clung to the dying embers of his hope, eyes sliding back to Castiel. Maybe Alistair lied to him back in that room. The demon always loved mind games, mixing truths with lies. The white-eyed Master of Pain had tried to teach Dean the lesson of how to use truths as a tool to torture someone, but it was something the eldest Winchester had a hard time learning.

A dark look befell Castiel's face. Blue eyes darkened with concern and confusion at how Dean learned about the first seal. Pausing, the angel weighed his options. He could lie to Dean and keep him in the dark. But on the other hand, the longer the wait the more damage could be done and Dean was already damaged. Thus, Castiel decided he would tell Dean the truth, give him the whole picture and hope that it was enough to strengthen the man. "Yes."

No longer able to look at each other's pain, the two focused back on the wall before them. Dean felt shock freeze his body as his mind raced to process the information dumped onto him. In the background he heard Castiel telling a story about laying siege to Hell but Dean didn't hear him. All he knew was that he had started the apocalypse. He was the cause for Earth's destruction because he couldn't handle a little bit of torture…because he was weak.

Castiel tilted his head upwards, eyes losing themselves to the memories of watching his brothers and sisters fighting and dying by his side in the blazing fires of Hell. The grief threatened to drown him but he clung to the indifferent nature of his old self. He had failed them in not reaching Dean in time. More importantly, he once again failed in protecting Dean from Fate's cruel path. "But we were too late."

Dean's existence became a thin sheet of ice. The longing to be back in the Pit, to be dead was overwhelming. Why couldn't they have just left him down there?

"The righteous man who begins it is the only one to finish it," Castiel drove home his point by staring deeply into Dean's tormented green eyes. "You have to stop it."

Dean stared back into those orbs recognizing the same torment he felt. Castiel's brother had stabbed them in the back. He couldn't even begin to imagine how it must have felt to have to kill your own brother because he didn't follow the orders. It was a fear Dean was familiar with every time Uriel appeared, praying that the angel wasn't there to kill Sam, his wayward little brother.

Blue eyes shone in their depths a spark of hope. Hope that Dean would be strong enough to end the Apocalypse, that all his brothers and sisters deaths were not in vain. That Uriel was wrong in placing his trust into this human.

Despair morphed into helpless rage. Dean wanted to scream and punch at Castiel for placing this entire burden on his shoulders. Why him? Why his family? What did it all mean?

Castiel looked away briefly. He didn't know how to answer Dean's questions, how to help his ward to get back onto his feet. How could an angel of the lord help its savior when he himself couldn't protect his ward and see the truth that was right in front of him? Castiel's wavering faith was going to get both of them killed. "I don't know."

Dean's desperate voice pounded into his ears reminding Castiel that despite all the collisions within him from these new emotions, he had to appear strong for Dean. Eyes piercing into Dean, resolution laced every word that poured forth from his mouth. "I know our fate rests with you."

The two stared deep into each other. Castiel watched Dean's soul crack and shatter before him. Dean's self-confidence crushed into a fine dust, Castiel witnessed the full extent of Alistair's final torture and did not like what he saw.

"Then you guys are screwed," whispered the rough voice of a broken soul.

Not able to look upon Dean's pain written on his injured face, Castiel sought refuge in the white wall across the room. The urge to reach out and comfort Dean was overwhelming. For a second he thought about bending time, to go back and prevent this conversation. But, it was not God's will, not his orders. So Castiel sat in the dark room soaking up Dean's pain like a sponge, knowing he deserved this in failing to protect Dean and letting the torture commence.

"Alistair was right. I'm not all here. I'm not st—I'm not strong enough." Dean kept his gaze locked on Castiel's profile. He couldn't stop the despair any longer as it sucked away his resolve and hope.

Castiel looked back towards him, a quiet but powerful apology written on his face. Dean couldn't handle the apology, not now. He didn't deserve Cas's sympathy. He wasn't worthy enough.

"I guess I'm not the man either of our dads wanted me to be." Lips trembling, Dean fought back the tears that his soul bled inside.

The angel looked across the room once more hiding the pain that shimmered in them. Castiel couldn't agree more with Dean. He wanted to tell his ward that he wasn't alone, that he too wasn't the man that his Father wanted him to be: strong and resolute in his faith. But, the angel kept his silence not quite knowing how to phrase the confession and afraid that he would only hurt Dean even more.

"Find someone else." Dean closed his eyes; he was hanging on the edge of the abyss. "It's not me." As a single tear ran down his cheek, Dean let go and fell into oblivion.

Standing outside in the hallway, leaning against the peach colored wall, a tall gray-haired balding man folded his arms wrinkling the expensive black business suit. Blue-gray eyes fell slightly to the ground at hearing the silence fill the room in which a man and an angel resided, each drowning in their pain.

Zachariah had been sent down to fix the mess Uriel created by trying to root out which angels were rogue and who were still just to the plan of protecting the seals. His first suspect had been Castiel, considering he and Uriel had been partners. Yet that suspicion disappeared with those soft words spoken in confession.

Hearing the whole exchange between his subordinate and the righteous man, the angel didn't like how complex the situation had truly become. He had hoped a simple pat on the back and a few words of encouragement would be enough for Dean Winchester. As for Castiel, he would give the angel a few days off for meditation and questioning before returning to work. But now…

Uncrossing his arms, the powerful angel tilted his palms upwards. Now, he had to deal with a broken man drowning in guilt and self-loathing. The other was a lost angel breaking underneath the guilt and confusion. Both were losing their ways, treading towards a dark path. Zachariah had to put a stop to it before all was lost.

A plan formed in his mind as permission was granted from his fellow superiors. Curling his fingers, he tucked them into the pockets of the jacket. Turning quietly on polished black shoes he walked down the hallway, not wanting to cause suspicion amongst the humans and Castiel. Castiel, the young angel who had shown promise in the siege against Hell. Dean Winchester, the righteous man who condemned his soul to Hell for his brother. Reaching into his inside jacket pocket, Zachariah pulled out the business card his host had. Sandover Bridge and Iron Company. Maybe this company had an opening and from the grapevine it appeared to be haunted as well.

Perfect.

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A/N: There's Zac for ya, making a special appereance. Don't know where they're taking his character, and I'm kinda getting bad vibes from him but whatever. We'll see. Must have patience. Also, no credit on the whole Dean/Cas scene. To whoever wrote that you are a bloody genius and Jensen and Misha were just awesome. I can't do the scene justice, but it had to be done to set up from what is to come. Oh yes, there is more. Like I said, this plot bunny won't leave me alone so I've made up my mind, this is going to be a full-blown story.


	4. Chapter 4

A/N: And so, this is where I begin to branch off from the episode and the real fun begins. Thanks again, all your reviews had me grinning all day.

**Homeward Bound**

"_It's um, good to see you again…Dean_."

Green eyes widened, fingers gripping his shoelaces so hard that his knuckles turned white. Shoulders slumping forward, head tilting downwards, Dean scanned the small hospital room quickly, his body burning with fear. Eyes fell quickly onto a pen left on the table. The small instrument wouldn't do much damage but would buy him the time needed to flee if used correctly. And he knew just how much pressure and where to aim to make the pen lethal.

Waiting with paused breath, the hunter sat posed to attack in the blink of an eye. The lightly freckled nose sniffed the air searching for that signature wisp of sulfur. Eyes locked themselves on the floor near to the corner of the hospital bed waiting for the shadow to slither into existence.

Cas hadn't said anything about what had happened during the fight. Yet, Dean could feel it deep down in his bones. Alastair was still alive. He was out there somewhere or back in Hell nursing his wounds and planning his next visit. It would only take a matter of time before the white-eyed freak found his favorite toy once more. Dean knew he couldn't handle another session, not after finding out the truth about his resurrection.

Nothing but silence filled the room, answering his silent begging. Off in the distance, he heard the clicking of an intercom announcing some doctor's name.

With a quick tug, Dean finished tying his shoe, eyes inching their way back to the table. Suppressing a shudder, Dean scooted towards the end of the bed, back facing the table as if the pen hard morphed into a python. Resting his hands on his lap, the eldest Winchester sat waiting for his brother to pick him up. Sam had arrived earlier that day, bedraggled with tousled hair and baggy eyes. Relief spilt out onto the young face when the doctor gave the green light for Dean to leave. After staying in the hospital for a week, Sam was ready to leave this town and all the memories it held. But Dean…

He was on automatic pilot. Even talk was in simple, concise sentences in the rasp that had become his voice. After the doctor had left Sam frowned, soaking in the dead green eyes. "I'll grab us something for the road while you finish getting ready."

Thus Dean waited; time losing its' meaning to him. With every blink, every footstep and ticking of the clock, the memories of Hell flooded his senses. The tortured had become the torturer then it twisted itself in a nasty sharp U-turn and Dean found his shattered self back on the rack that was life.

Leaning forward, Dean buried his bruised face into his hands, trying to hold back the tears that threatened to flood out of him like a broken dam. Sam couldn't see him like this, he just couldn't. If his little brother found out how broken he was, if he found out the truth that Dean had broken the first seal, the tallest Winchester would surely leave him. This incident was proof that Dean was weak. In the long run, he would only hinder Sam and that could be disastrous. Dean couldn't do that to Sam, his brother's well being placed away ahead of his own.

"_Just not the man your daddy wanted you to be, Dean_."

Alastair's mocking hiss wrapped itself around his soul like the tar-inflamed rope the demon had used once, tugging him further into the abyss. The pain of guilt flared within him, burning into bright supernovas behind closed eyes. Dean wasn't lying to Sam. He would give anything not to feel again. To be numb to the world and not have to deal with the guilt of torturing those souls, to remember the pleasure buzzing in his mind as blood oozed through his fingers like a lover's kiss. Now, the guilt of starting the Apocalypse was more wood to the bonfire. It never seemed to cease. Just when he thought he was finally out of the woods, fate threw a monkey wrench into his life.

"_Just not the man…"_

"Shut up," moaned Dean quietly as the screams of Hell and Alastair's lisping voice repeated those four words.

"Shut up, shut up, shut up, shut up!" Dean's throat burned as the shout stumbled out into the silent air. Cracking shimmering green eyes, head tilted upwards, Dean took in the pinpricked ceiling. Heaving in air through his bruised throat, he welcomed the pain that blossomed from his outburst. It made him feel semi-human again…made the noises in his head dim down for the briefest second…gave him peace.

"Dean."

Sam's deep voice cut through the small heaven Dean found himself in. Tilting his downwards and to the side, Dean took in Sam's tall form standing in the doorway holding a bag of food. Sam ran a hand through his hair, pushing back his bangs. Brown eyes narrowed slightly at the Castiel-like motion coming from Dean. Even those emotionless green eyes that locked themselves onto him flashed for a second of pure blue.

Great, just what Sam needed, an angel rubbing off on Dean when it came to mannerisms. As if his older brother wasn't already hard to read. Whatever happened to Alastair, Dean had shut himself off from the world. Even with him talking, Dean seemed in a bit of a daze. Shock was what the doctor said. But Sam knew better. It was guilt. Guilt for what, he didn't know yet. But if it was from torturing Alastair, Sam would knock some sense into his brother. That monster didn't deserve to be mourned over.

Stepping inside, the youngest Winchester reached for their bag. "Come on, let's leave this Hell hole."

Turning slowly, Sam felt a trickle of relief when Dean stood up and walked behind him silently. At least Dean seemed to have the energy to move. A few days earlier, the older Winchester didn't even want to touch his food, despite it being a slice of apple pie.

Walking behind his towering little brother, Dean took in the tense posture and soft footsteps as if Sam was walking on eggshells. Shoulders drooping, he stuffed his freezing fingers into his coat pockets. They hadn't talked about what happened when Dean lost unconsciousness and already he felt terrible for putting all this on Sam's shoulders. Sorry for freaking out his brother when he disappeared, sorry for having him save his sorry ass one more time, sorry for having to get the crap beaten out of him to the point that he needed to be admitted. Sorry for worrying Sam to this high-strung, worried state.

Once again, he had failed Sam.

"…_just not the man your daddy wanted_…"

Failed his father.

"_We laid siege to Hell…fought our way to get to you…we were too late_…"

Failed Castiel. Failed the angels that were killed to find him. Failed God.

His feet stumbled slightly causing Sam to spin his head with concern. "Dean, you alright?"

Straightening his back, Dean forced a small smirk to tug at his lips. "Peachy, Sam. Just…need to stretch my legs…"

Doubt flooded Sam's eyes. He saw clearly through the lie. But, it would be a pointless case to argue with the wounded hunter. "Well, we're almost to the car. You can rest then eat and take a nap." Turning forward, Sam took in a deep breath to keep his stoic demeanor present. It wouldn't do Dean any good to see him all shaken with concern that his brother might not heal one hundred percent this time. If anything, the man that had returned back from the Pit had been crushed beneath Alastair's hand. This shell that was his brother…

Sam shook his head and continued forward, pushing open the hospital doors and feeling relief flood into him at seeing the Impala parked straight ahead. He couldn't dwell on such thoughts, not now. He had to be strong to care for Dean and focused on killing Lilith. Then both of them were getting a well-deserved vacation to the Bahamas far away from demons, angels and hunting as possible.

Dean soaked in the image of his baby, as he walked to the passenger side. Glimpsing inside, he spotted the drying leather on the back seat. Sam must have driven him here, meaning that he had stained his precious car with his blood. Blood was hard to remove; he remembered all too well how he had scrubbed till his fingers were raw from the accident with the semi. Sliding into the seat, he closed the door gently, not wanting to injure the Impala even more. He had failed her as well.

Sam started the car and pulled out onto the highway. Leaning his head against the window, Dean watched as the endless fields of Wyoming zoomed by him. If only he could be like that, just empty with life. Nothing could harm him then. Eyes sliding shut, he braced himself behind a rotting door inside a collapsing motel room as the storm of Hell clashed outside.

Fear closed its' long pale fingers around his throat as a jagged knife pierced his heart. Back slammed against the metal star, chains clinking in the background, Dean gazed tiredly into the icy-cold stare of Alastair.

Round one zillion, Ding.

As the knife twisted and fingers squeezed Dean sent out a painful scream into his personal Hell.

"_So, I'll see you…" _whispered a dark promise, hinting at the unimaginable pain he would endure in the next session.

He wanted it all to stop. Wanted the pain and guilt to fade into nothingness. He wanted to be numb and not worry about saving the world.

He wanted to be his old self again: the cocky, joking, confident, womanizer of a hunter.

The Dean Winchester that every demon, ghost and vampire feared.

In the depths of the nightmares, Dean's soul cried out in grief over what he wanted and could never have…could never be again.

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Beneath cracked granite, stained soil and freezing oceans the screams of the damned is on constant replay. A twisted soundtrack for Hell matches the fire and blood of the tortured. Hanging like clothes on a forgotten cloths line, souls are trapped forever on the racks that dragged them to this unforsaken place.

Amongst the rakes, clouds of smoke dance merrily between flashes of knives and whips marking their stature as assistant torturers. Some are mindless in their work, wanting only immediate satisfaction with every cut. When they're done all that remains is an unrecognizable mess that becomes the distorted shape of a human in a lightening flash. Those eager demons have lost their humanity quickly, becoming mindless in their wants and needs.

Scurrying away like leaves; other forms slither up to the racks circling their new victim. The predator eyes their prey with barely repressed glee before leaping into the fray. With each flick of a saw, these older, more experienced demons relished every moan and whimper. They knew that one doesn't truly savor the anguish by rushing the torture. No, it was all about taking one's time and creativity.

These demons were taught that one rule in Hell. There was no rush in Hell. Time had no meaning. Why not savor every moment, try every possible method or finesses one's favorite? The soul always returned to its natural state till it couldn't bear it anymore and turned into a low level demon.

That was one of the Truths in Hell's torture chamber. The soul was always healed marking the next round.

The other Truth was that Alastair was the Lord here. This domain was his playground. If he wanted to torture a soul, no other demon could protest or argue. His word was Law. And if you angered him in any manner, you would be placed back on the Rack. There was no lenience.

None. Except for one, the one soul that Alastair savored above all others. There had been one soul before this chosen one. The soul of John Winchester was a stubborn soul. His fierce love for his sons made the man immune to all the pain the Inquisitor bestowed upon his imaginary body. All the man ever thought of was not becoming a creature his sons would have to hunt down one day. And in the end, Mary would not love him if he became the thing that killed her.

That was his mindset for the first fifty years. Then, one night he whispered yes. And so John Winchester climbed off the rack and put souls on, yet not once did he pick up Alastair's blade. Instead, his broken soul assisted the Head Torturer, swallowing the screams issuing forth from the victim. Alastair tried to coax the hunter into taking a more proactive role, but John only muttered "You'll be the first." So, the seal never broke. It would never have. For John Winchester was not a righteous man. He believed he deserved this punishment and more for abandoning his sons, failing Mary and not being a good enough father. So, John stood fast as a low demon next 50 years.

Till the day Azazel's demons rallied, drawing others to their cause. Word was spreading that the Devil's Gate was opening. Soon, their chosen leader would lead the charge and the demons would rule the world with no fear at all. Alastair scoffed as he watched some of his demons join the crowd. They were fools.

That was the day John Winchester had said "Let me carve." Alastair was in shock, reaching out to pluck one of his insubordinates. Pushing the knife in the hunter's hand, Alastair waited with baited breath for the man to shed blood.

John grinned darkly. In a flash, he spun and drove the knife deep into Alastair's chest. Hollowing, Hell's Chief Torturer stumbled backwards into the rack next to his sobbing victim. Without wasting a moment, John Winchester fled, running as fast as he could through the crowd of demons. He fought, cursed and dragged himself till the moment came when he pulled himself up once more breaking free from Hell.

After the fiasco and the Devil's Gate closed once more, Hell returned to normal. Except Alastair was fuming over the loss of John Winchester. Then came Dean, the son of John, the spoiled child. The moment that self-loathing broken soul carved symbols into the beauty that was once Bela, Alistair's dark joy spread like oil on water. Other older demons felt pride at first for starting the Apocalpyse, but then came the envy. Even after breaking, Dean was favored above all for his quick learning and creativity.

None of the black-eyed demons liked having a Winchester in their ranks. The higher up ones, like Lilith who pranced and clung to Dean like the exuberant child she loved to possess, seemed pleased at the conversion. Even as the angels invaded hell, spoiling everything with their blinding light, the demons cursed Dean as Alastair sought to protect his favored son.

Then all was quiet when the lights disappeared. Fearing another invasion, the demons quietly went back to work, seeking solace in the pain and terror. The Apocalypse was beginning and tasting what the true battle held spurred the demons to morph their fear into blinding hatred. Normalcy returned with a vengeance as Alastair seethed in the background, pacing like a panther waiting for orders to go topside.

The white-eyed demon nearly ran to the top on his last trip. Whatever had happened during his last round had wetted the Torturer's mouth. And whatever it was had been his undoing.

Oh, they felt it. The demons halted in their torture casting Hell into an eerie silence except for the occasional whimper. A void thick as ash fell upon them. Alastair's commanding, inquisitive presence that stained every cut he had made upon all those marking them as his dimmed into a forgotten memory.

Alastair was dead.

One of Lucifer's favorites was dead. Blinking, soulless black eyes gazed at each other. What were they to do without someone watching over them? One of the Truths was broken. But the other still existed. And that was all that mattered.

While others poured their grief into the murderous act of carving into their victims, others threw themselves back on the rack and tortured themselves. Yet a few clenched their favorite tools and lashed out at each other. It was time for a new Master Torturer to rise. And with no Dean Winchester present, the position was open to all.

The clashing of metal and chains echoed loudly in the Pit. Peering out from under an overturned table, a small smokeless figure watched with terror as three demons fought it out in one of Alastair's private chambers. A small razor clattered nearby as a demon screeched out in pain as a staff was rammed into his chest.

Reaching out, the tiny demon grasped onto the razor finding solace in the lingering presence of its master. He couldn't stay here much longer. If the other demons found him, they would annihilate him in the idea that he was too weak. The rest would kill him in the sheer spite of who he is.

Sliding behind the table, the demon curled his small legs up to his chest. He hated being this tiny. It was pathetic. He was on his way on becoming a strong and powerful creature. Then his dreams were dashed, burned away in a blazing fire. It was all too similar to another fire eons ago involving a house, a small baby, some dark-haired man and a woman in white.

Frowning, the demon squeezed his eyes shut as the bloodbath continued. That was when he heard it. A far away cry filled his foggy mind. Eyes snapping open, he stared upwards locking onto that familiar cry. Floating quietly, the demon carefully traveled his way through Hell; going beyond the rooms Alastair assigned him.

Instincts from some other life halted his moments when others came too close. Holding onto the razor, posed to strike, he crawled his way upwards and away from chaos. Passing the torn souls blowing gently in the heat waves of the fires, the child-like demon clambered onwards. His persistent nature took hold, not noticing that he was getting further away from the place of his birth.

All he knew was that lighthouse of a cry drawing him forward, away from rocky shores. And as he neared that foreign but home-like place, he felt an all too familiar rage begin to boil as recognition shone brightly onto his black eyes.

It was time.

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A.N: There ya go, another chapter finished. Reviews are greatly appreciated but I'm just happy if you guys read. Take care!


	5. Chapter 5

**Disclaimer: **Don't own the addictiveness that is Supernatural.

**A/N:**In honor that was the AWESOMENESS of tonight's episode of "Rapture" I bring you the next chapter. I'm like still reeling, floating above cloud nine. And OMG the preview for the next two and OMG OMG, my favorite demon made an appearence. (Don't want to spoil) So didn't expect that!!! Gagh! And now my roomate is totally certain that I am just a strange person who probably needs to be locked up XD Anyways, enough of me rambling, I guess I should give you guys a warning in that towards the end it gets a little graphic. Who'd a thought that the actor who played Adam in the last episode put me back in the mood.

**Perchance to Dream**

Despair blew through trees, grass and long black pavement away from the rundown room of a random motel. Miles away, a small figure stood before the round hole he had climbed out of. Glancing around, his wide black eyes took in the world before him with childlike wonderment. It had been eons since he had been last on topside. No longer could he remember the sharp taste of fresh air or the dampness that hung all around him. He took in every flat blade of dry grass, memorizing the dark brown roots of majestic fallen trees. A ring of fallen trees surrounded him. He stood in the center of the epicenter of something massive…something supernatural.

Black eyes fell onto the crooked wooden cross that stood silently across from him. The simple symbol seemed to be mocking him that he was too late. Yet at the same time, he could feel a very familiar white burning sensation sizzle around him. Snarling, the shapeless form raised a small part of himself, solidifying it as he lashed out. A resounding crack blasted into the dead of night. Grinning, the newly escaped demon watched with sick satisfaction as the cross snapped into two, crumpling into a heap before him.

There was no God, no mighty being or good in this world. All there was was pain, suffering and Alastiar. Reaching out, the demon wanted nothing more than to burn the sign as his scars pulsed in the absence of his teacher. Alastair was dead because of that winged creature. He didn't remember much when he had been exiled from Paradise. But now and again, he saw glimpses of a white creature with crystal-like feather wings and piercing sky blue eyes.

Shaking his head, the demon rolled into himself and strode out of the makeshift gravesite. Irritation was boiling in him as he shimmered above the worn road. Memories of his hardships of being tortured, of rising in the ranks to being cast into this worthless form and than Alastair leaving him to fend for himself sent electricity to mark the ground beneath him.

Glancing down the road in either direction, the demon didn't know what to do next. He couldn't use telepathic powers or witchcraft to summon Home. Hell, he didn't even have the juice to fly in the air or conduct the simple act of possession. Every moment he was away, his powers diminished to all that was left was his stubborn will that made it easy for him to shape himself in any form and the skills as Assistant Torturer.

Oh, Alastair hadn't given up on him when Home left. No. In the private chamber of his teacher, the small demon soaked up every lesson Alastair taught him in secret. On occasion, the white-eyed demon would bring in simple and hard cases for him to practice on. After each session, the mighty damned soul that no other demon could break would lie in a sniveling pile in the corner. No other demons knew of his work, but continued to see him as the insignificant remains of a whimpering hunter that would add up to nothing.

"Nothing," growled the demon, whose voice was low and scratchy, began to trek to the left. "Well, whose the one that's topside while they're battling it to the death. Idjits."

As the familiar curse left his lips, a cold wind brushed past him, rippling his smoky form. Halting, black eyes narrowed. Normal wind would pass through him, but this was different. Turning, he let the ice-wind of anguish brush across his face. With invisible fingers lightly passing over his ears, he heard the familiar cry that he had lost once he emerged from the hole. He had reached the lighthouse, now it was a matter of finding Home.

Gathering himself, the demon sprinted headlong into the wind, eyes narrowing on the distant flickering light off in the horizon. Home was there and soon he would return to Paradise. A childish laughter filled the air in his wake echoing through the thick branches of an untamed field somewhere around Pontiac, Illinois.

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Lying in darkness with his back facing the window, Sam Winchester laid quietly in bed eyes boring holes into the corn-patterned wallpaper. Lining the running board was a large cornfield with John Deer trackers appearing every break. It was no surprise really considering they were spending the night in the city of Davenport, Iowa.

Sam had driven east for a couple days to escape it all. No hunts in the nearby vicinity, Bobby was in the opposite direction and Ruby…he had told her that they were heading North to Idaho to deal with a nest of vampires. And on the road, not once did Dean ask where they were going. His older brother had pressed deeper into the crevice between the car door and his seat. Hugging his brown leather jacket upward and tight, till all Sam could see was the spiky top of light brown hair. Dean looked so small, child-like Sam mused as he listened to the strained breathing that told him of the nightmares plaguing his brother. Not even in sleep did the older Winchester find solace.

Fingers tightening over the steering wheel, Sam kept his eyes on the road ranting his rage at the world, at the angels and demons, at God and even at John for creating this shell that was once Dean Winchester. The one man he had looked up his entire life, the one thing he could count on was destroyed. And once the illusion was gone, there was no going back.

The taller brother would have kept going but Dean had whispered that they needed to eat. Stopping at a small-scale diner outside of the damp city lying on the banks of the Mississippi, Dean finished half of his burger and only muttered enough words past his bruised throat that he was tired. Nodding, Sam got the food into to-go boxes and pulled over at the first motel he spotted.

Blinking, Sam sighed quietly. Despite not having a decent night sleep, he couldn't find it in himself to lie here doing nothing. The nightly activities of joining Ruby on a hunt or his little training sessions and now the growing sessions of blood drinking were becoming routine. Lying here staring at yellow and green was driving him insane. Fingers curled into the dark green blanket that draped lightly over him. He could make a quiet getaway and take a walk through the city. Maybe there was some demon lurking here.

The flat pale yellow pillow vibrated, sending its message in Morse code into Sam's head. Three rings before a long break and a tiny blue light shone beneath the pillow signaling a text. Reaching underneath, he shifted deeper into the blanket. Covered enough so not to wake Dean up, Sam flipped open his phone reading the message from Ruby.

"_Figures_," mused Sam. Finding out that he wasn't even near Idaho and leaving her to deal with the nest by herself, Ruby was bound to be a little ticked off. Then again the stream of curses in all types of languages wouldn't consitute as ticked, more like pissed. Smiling, Sam was about to send his thanks when a gasp echoed loudly in the room.

Snapping his phone shut, Sam focused on the real reason why he was far away from Ruby, why he was still lying in bed. Peeking over his shoulder, Sam watched as Dean's body twisted violently on the bed. His toned legs kicked the blanket and sheets off the bed in one fell swoop.

Twisting to face Sam, Dean's face became illuminated in the soft stream of a streetlamp trickling through the curtain. Hair soaked, eyes squeezed shut, Dean's mouth was a thin line in the contorted face. His left hand crawled upwards towards his throat while the right reached upwards as if fighting some invisible assailant.

Sam rolled over the small bed, feet sliding up to the side. In mid-action, he reached out with his large hand towards Dean's trembling shoulder. Dean's blue shirt was soaked with sweat but the older man was trembling as if he was freezing.

Eyes narrowing, Sam wanted to curse loudly. He did not need Dean getting sick on him. As his hand neared Dean, the smaller one let out a loud moan, hands collapsing to his side. Turning his face away, Dean seemed to collapse from whatever shackles the dream had held him in. Breathing returning to normal, Sam's brother appeared to finally reach some semblance of peace.

Releasing his own sigh, Sam rolled back to his original position. Rearranging the blanket, he slid the phone back under his pillow. Ruby could wait. Dean needed him at the moment and despite the world ending, his brother's health was more important. He had to somehow piece his brother back to together after the mess with Alastair.

Covering himself, Sam snuggled deep into the bed his mind wandering back to the torture chamber. A shiver ran down his spine. Closing his eyes, he drew up the mental picture his keen eyes had etched in those precious seconds before finding himself in the Impala. With Alastair's sliced up corpse in the corner, Sam couldn't help but think he was in some Hollywood horror movie like Saw, except this was real. There was blood and what appeared to be salt caked onto Ruby's knife. Lying nearby was a leather funnel that he didn't even want to imagine what was poured into it.

But the sickening twist in this movie was that in the center was Dean. Oh, Sam always knew that his older brother had a dark side. Dean never showed it much, keeping it hidden underneath all the loud remarks and grins, but when it did peek through or he let it out…Sam curled into himself, feeling the room chill slightly. It scared him. That one time in Montana when Dean had sawed off the head of a vampire, blood splattering across his face and those eyes darkening in pleasure. Then there was Meg and that whole exorcism ordeal. Sam had never felt more scared to be near Dean as his brother circled around the poor possessed girl interrogating Meg with an icy rage. And that was before Hell. Now-

A soft groan snapped his hazel eyes wide. Looking on the wall, Sam was surprised to find a light coming from the corner. Keeping his breathing the same, he watched as a shadow fell onto the wall. From the hunched shoulders and spiked hair he knew it was Dean. The faded silhouette of a hand moved upwards carrying something long and thin towards a tilted head.

Not waiting to see what would happen, Sam sprung into action. Tossing the blanket to the side, he flew over the edge landing on his feet in front of the bed; hand outstretched yanking the honey bottle away. "Dean!"

His older brother stopped in his act, green eyes wide with surprise. "What the hell, Sam?" croaked Dean.

Blinking, no voice could respond. Staring down, Sam took in the small teddy bear shaped honey container. The doctor had advised that to help with the soreness that Dean take some tea and honey. Tea was out of the question since Dean declared it a 'pompous Brit drink'.

Smiling weakly, Sam held out his hand. "Sorry, I just thought…" The raised eyebrow from Dean's puzzled face caused him to pause. He couldn't say, "_You were going to kill yourself_." Instead it came out, "Never mind."

Frowning slightly, Dean reached out and snatched the honey. "Whatever man. Just don't do any more Force tricks." Flipping open the cap, Dean tilted his head back and squeezed some of the thick amber gel into his mouth. Swallowing, Dean let out a loud smack as he closed the bottle. The sweetness washed away the funny taste he all of a sudden had in his mouth.

"Didn't think you do the honey," whispered Sam, trying to break out of the awkward situation he found himself in.

"Well, my throat's sore and parched and there's no…" Eyes drifted to the small pouch where Dean's empty flask lay. Since the incident, he hadn't the time to go buy any liquor. And in a strange way, Dean couldn't even find the energy to drink anymore. It didn't make the nightmares stop. Nothing did.

Sam coughed, pulling Dean's attention to the front. Shaking his head, Dean smacked Sam on the arm. "And why are you up? Thought you were asleep?" Beneath the semi-joking tone was the unspoken but heard question, "_Waiting for Ruby_?"

Sam ran a hand through his hair, "Couldn't sleep."

"That makes two of us." Walking in shuffled footsteps, Dean felt as if something was crushed against his chest. Hiding the grimace, he waved his hand over his shoulder, "Put on porn or something."

A small smirk brightened Sam's face, melting the tension away. Glancing to the side, he watched as Dean dragged himself to the bathroom. With a soft click, the door was closed. Stretching his legs underneath the black sweatpants, he collapsed back on the bed. Arms tucked underneath his head, Sam stared into the white pin-prickled ceiling.

Why did he think Dean was going to kill himself? Sure Dean was suicidal in their hunts sometimes and was depressed on occasion. But nothing was ever too much to kill himself. Then again, one could consider the deal a suicide but Dean had come back. Then why?

"_You know why_," whispered a dark voice, "_Dean's weak. You said it yourself. Your brother couldn't handle Alastair by himself. He didn't defend himself once. The old Dean wouldn't like to live this way and you know it. Besides, you can see that he's itching to go back."_

Groaning loudly, Sam covered his face with his hands pressing his palms against his eyes till supernovas exploded into existence. The voice was right as always. Dean wasn't the same anymore and if he knew anything of his older brother, Dean hated being weak. But still, was it enough to kill himself?

"_Dean's broken_." Peering through his fingers, Sam watched as Dean shuffled out of the bathroom shutting off the light. The slumped shoulders, haggard expression, dark circles under the haunted eyes plus the fading bruises that matched the room's colors screamed broken. He seemed lost in what seemed to be an all too large shirt and a darker shade of gray sweatpants.

Dean peered up tiredly at Sam, kicking his little brother lightly in the foot as he shuffled by. "Get some sleep, Sam. Otherwise you are not driving my baby tomorrow."

Raising his arms, Dean tugged his damp shirt off and tossed it on a chair. Bending down, the older Winchester shut off the lamp and crawled into bed. Pulling up the sheets and blanket, Dean rolled onto his side staring out of the covered window relaxing as the stale air cooled his heated body. He could barely make out the old buildings lining the hill to where a large bridge was blinking like a lighthouse over the Mississippi River.

This was life now, as he saw it despite all the revelations: a thin, old, worn out, stubborn piece of his old self separating the hellish existence inside a dark box in his mind with that of the bright, pure world outside shimmering with life.

"Sam." Dean's voice whispered softly, the soreness disappearing underneath the warm coating of honey.

"Yeah," responded an almost equally tired voice.

"What happened?"

Pause.

"What do you mean?"

"What happened to…" Dean bit back a chock, "Alastair?"

He heard Sam shift on the bed, "Don't know, when I arrived he was gone. Castiel took care of him."

Dean's eyes fell from the window falling onto the dark abyss that was the floor. He could almost picture, almost yearned, for a monster to come crawling from underneath his bed to snatch him away. Castiel didn't say anything about killing Alastair, just sat in silence after their conversation standing guard till Sam arrived.

"He's dead, Dean."

No. Dean closed his eyes as something akin to grief washed over him. The shift and the long pauses, he wasn't stupid. He could read Sam, always had and always will. There was nothing he didn't know about that kid. Except that the Sam now was nowhere like his Sammy and this Sam lied. Lied with such ease it scared him. Flashes of red began to trickle through. Opening his eyes into slits, Dean ran from Hell once more. Alastair wasn't dead; it was impossible. The Sam of today lied.

"Oh" was the only word Dean could say.

Silence fell upon the pair as the moon crept across the clear night sky. Sam waited quietly listening to Dean's even breaths. Glancing at the clock on the VCR an hour and a half had passed by. Rising himself quietly, he glanced over at Dean, who still laid on his side. His brother hadn't moved one inch or even whimpered. It seemed that Dean would finally get some much-needed sleep, which still eluded Sam.

Reaching out, Sam slipped into his tennis shoes. Standing up, he crept to the chair, picked up his jacket and the spare motel key. Walking quietly, he softly opened the door and slid out into the crisp night air. Closing the door and locking it without so much a groan, Sam slipped into his jacket and gazed around the parking lot. A small jog around the motel and maybe up to the gas station would wind him down. Just enough fresh air to push away his guilt for lying to Dean, to lock away the addicting pleasure of the demon blood coursing through his veins, to forget Castiel's shocked and disappointed blue eyes and to burn away the memory of Alastair's corpse collapsing onto the ground.

"Sorry," muttered Sam, his face falling into a sad expression as he glanced at the door. "But it's all for you, Dean. It's my turn to protect you now." Stuffing his hands into his jacket, Sam began to walk hoping to reach a peaceful state of mind.

Inside the room, Dean rose slowly, peering over his shoulder taking in the missing shoes, key and jacket. Sam was gone. Again. He should feel surprised or angry but nothing fazed him. Sliding to the edge, Dean hung over, reached down and pulled out his favorite bowing knife from underneath the pillow. Instincts of keeping a weapon close ingrained onto his very being. A dull throb pounded against his chest. Lips tightening, Dean grunted quietly. What the hell was going on now? In the bathroom, he checked for anything unusual but there were no signs of bruising. And if it was paranoia or what, he checked his tatoo. It was intact. Then why did he feel as if something wrongfully right had invaded his very being. Shaking his head, Dean swung his legs over the side, sitting upright in the bed. If the pain was still there tomorrow, then he would have Sam check him out. Otherwise, it was nothing to worry about. Glad with the conclusion of one problem, the hunter focused on another set of issues. Running the pad of his thumb along the sharp blade, Dean tilted his head slightly soaking in every nick and groove of the metal.

All night long he could feel it calling to him promising that twisted rush of happiness. A flash of light glinted off the blade revealing the images of sliced souls withering before him. His nightmares were seeping into the world of waking.

Tilting the blade slightly downward, Dean saw Alastair lying before him, chains tying him up like a Christmas present. Bending downwards, the hunter could only watch as the blade disappeared into the man's chest, blood spilling forth, like a ripe tomato. Stuttering out a sigh, Dean's body relaxed, remembering how it felt to feel the man's blood seep through his fingers. The pain in his chest faded to a dim memory. To hear the demon's breath hitch in pain and groan out between held back screams.

"_I carved you_."

"Yeah you carved," eyes lost in the memory, Dean sliced upwards into the imaginary chest, "and sliced. But why stop now…"

Alastair squirmed on the floor, white eyes screaming. "_That's it boy. You gotta get in deep now_."

Dean leaned forward, pressing the knife tip into the carpet as Alastair's face morphed into a young face of a woman; her long curly brown hair sprawled around her.

"_Dean_!" Bela's scream pierced through his mind, knocking him free of the daydream. Falling backwards, the knife fell from a limp hand landing with a thud on the carpet. Landing on his back, Dean gripped his hair eyes squeezed shut as Bela's voice screamed loudly through his head as blood ran out of her wherever Alastair's—no his—razor made contact.

The once-perfect white skin morphed black and Gordon was before him snarling incohesively as Dean carved away with a dull knife drenched in dead man's blood. Gasping, the hunter rolled onto his stomach as the memories rained down on him. He could feel everything from the whiplashes he had once received during his early years to being drowned in his own blood to forcing his victims cry until he ripped their tear ducts out.

Body shaking uncontrollably, Dean screamed and sobbed into the bed, hoping that it was enough to muffle his pain for the neighbors. Cause even then, amid the nightmares, all Dean could think coherently was not to wake Sammy or the neighbors otherwise that would cause trouble that his father did not want to deal with while on a hunt.

Thus a broken man cried till his throat was sore once more and all his energy spent. How could he stop the Apocalypse if he couldn't even handle a decent night sleep?

"How?" screamed Dean into the scrunched up blanket underneath his head. "How!"

As expected, nothing answered. But then again, Dean wasn't looking in the right places, for something had heard his question and had an answer to solve all of the tortured man's problems.

--------------------------------------------------------------------

A/N: Sheesh, it's gets a bit anguish writing Dean like this and Sam too. If you wanna read something happy, I wrote a little one-shot that was totally crack concerning our two boys and Castiel having a good ol' time at a bar. And for bonus points, have some chocolate-chip cookies to cheer you up. Take care! I'm gong back to cloud nine.


	6. Chapter 6

Disclaimer: Don't own the boys or Castiel that all belongs to the evil mind of Kripke.

A/N: Here's the next chapter. What can I say, except the Dean whumpage is addicting. It's like once you start, you can't stop...just like demon blood, but not as gross. That and be warned, I was a bit ticked when writing this chapter cause my computer got infected with some virus. But thankfully I didn't lose anything...yet. *sighs* But it's still majorly infected, so here I am on my roommate's computer posting for you guys. Oh, what a love/hate relationship we have with technology.

Also, a MAJOR HEADS UP!!!! I'm going to be moving next Thursday, yay for graduating college and I won't have a computer for about three to four weeks. That mean's no updates after May 13th. Yet, my plan is to either double or triple post next week cause I don't have that many finals to make up for the major break. Hope this sounds good to y'all.

**Truth be told**

"_How?!?_"

The question vibrated like a thunderclap through the desolate wasteland. The ground cracked sending bellows of dirt to fill the air. The permanent gray sky held no sun while black stained clouds poured blood. Yet before those red droplets even touched the ground, they sizzled into smoke as steam hissed from the cracks. The white puffs shaped themselves into indistinct forms curling around the few blades of green grass.

The innocent vegetation didn't last long, shriveling into black corpses of its former self. Sulfur roars across the land with the force of an angel's wings sending pebbles, knives and chocking dirt to slam itself into the only structure on the landscape of Dean's soul.

The house was nothing but simple at best. A two-story white country house had a balcony on the front to watch for the rising of a sun that had not existed for forty years. Forever in mint condition, the house had withstood many onslaughts for the owner had protected it from all the elements. Dean treasured the precious childhood memories and everything he wanted as a human was in the shape of the only home he knew, the one house in Lawrence, Kansas before it was charred with hellish flames.

Now though, this once treasured house still held its value but the owner's meticulous upkeep deteriorated to fit the new environment Dean called home for forty years. Hell had made itself comfortable inside his most prized possession, washing away the whiteness of the house till it became a rotting dark brown color. The balcony outside was crumbling under the weight as the building began to tilt to its side revealing holes in the roof. Yet the door remained locked, retaining a faded blue color to show the world that Dean still clung desperately to who he was despite his trip into the Pit.

"_How_?"

The deep, tired voice cracked through the sky spilling white light upon the inside world. In the brief flash, a figure was illuminated, his slender silhouette casting a long, eerie shadow upon the door. Sitting on the porch steps leading up the door, a lean man dressed in a simple light blue dress shirt hung off his frame stained with dry dark splotches and sweat. A bright red spot stained at the center of his chest with a thin line leading directly below his throat.

Tugging at his black pants, similar colored shoes grounded into the wood earning a groan of protest. Arms rested themselves onto his knees; long elegant fingers lacing themselves together between the small space between his legs. His long bearded face tilted downwards till his chin touched his chest lightly. Light brown hair peppered with gray hair blew softly in the wind enhancing the broad forehead. Dark shadows covered brooding dark blue eyes peering thoughtfully into the landscape as if taking a peek outside a cave.

A loud crack shattered the silence bringing forth a soft long smile as eyes bled into white. His slices into Dean's soul were raw and ragged, infection spreading forth with a ferocity that surprised even him.

"Dean, Dean, Dean," lisped the demon, "Why don't you stop this senseless fighting?"

Blinking, his eyes swept westward feeling a sudden pull. A small boy was walking towards the house, his bare feet not sizzling or bleeding upon the unforgiving surface. The child looked around to be nine, wearing baggy jeans and too large of shirt over a gray tee-shirt. Light brown hair was combed to the side revealing large ears that he still had yet to grow into. Rising, the white-eyed demon walked down the last steps. As the child neared closer, Alastair made out the dash of freckles lining the pale nose and high cheeks. Underneath the youthful plump appearance, a haunted look tugged at the boy's face making him seem older. Stopping, a pair of small round eyes peered up at him with pitch black orbs. Relief at seeing him alive was evident, but underneath it all caution and hatred at being abandoned gathered like thunder clouds. Small fingers curled into fists, a flash of light bouncing off of the hidden razor blade cupped in the new demon's palm.

"How?" echoed a child-like voice of a younger Dean, ringing like a shot in the air. Alastair bent down onto a knee, pleased to see the air of caution around the young demon. His hunter instincts were serving him well on the topside. "You remember how I marked every soul."

The demon nodded, face taunt with vigilance.

"Dean still bares my mark, still alive, and thus I have remained." Alastair's cocked his head slightly, eyes peering downwards at an angle. "But I am merely a feedback, the grime on a dirty mirror. I have only enough substance left to leave the door open for you and seal the deal."

The young Dean frowned, eyes narrowing into slits. A very stern look befell the young features, hinting at the true age of the demon. "It better be quick."

Standing up, Alastair raised an eyebrow interested in what was said. "Oh."

Ignoring the man, the child walked up to the stairs. "It wasn't easy. I booked it from the grave to the motel, not wanting to get caught by angels. Thankfully, Sam didn't salt the room and I snuck under the door."

"But the hex bags?"

Turning, the demon glanced up at Alastair with a smug look. "HE has a tattoo to ward off possession. But it didn't stop me, hell it didn't even work." Grinning, the childish innocence vanished, replaced by pride at his talent. "It was easy. With all the nightmares and HIM so broken, I slid to home base without any challenges from the opposing team."

Alastair nodded approvingly. Despite inheriting Dean's arrogance, Alastair let the attitude slid by. He did not want the last few days with his protege to be filled with hateful glares. He needed the demon child to remain loyal to his new heritage. "But."

Child Dean grunted in exasperation, kicking at the dirt. "I almost got caught. When I was being pulled in, Home started to fight me off unconsciously. The movement must have woken up Sam, but by the time little brother turned around I was already home sweet home." Lifting his gaze, the demon took in the run-down childhood home. "Home."

He startled when Alastair placed both his hands on the boy's shoulders. Gazing upwards, his black eyes shone with utter trust and complete fear to his mentor's white eyes. "Go in and wait for me. Getting you here was the easy part, now I just need to win over Dean. Otherwise you will be trapped and end up in similar situation like it was back in the Pit."

Hatred flashed across the young features, making it surreal to see such a distorted emotion on a young figure. "I don't want to be weak anymore, Alastair. I want to be free, to be able to play and have fun like the good ol' days."

"I know, I know." Patting his shoulders, Alastair bent down, whispering his pleasure at almost tasting the completion of his masterpiece. "But still, you have to careful otherwise Sam or the angels will exorcise you."

"But I can't be. I'm a part of HIS soul."

"Yes the part he left behind in the Pit, but still those winged freaks can do things, the worst case being able to purify you."

The demon shuddered, remembering the searing pain that accompanied the flash of light. "No more pain."

"Then do exactly as I say and even their light cannot banish you." Alastair watched as his charge turned his small head to lock eyes with the demon. No other fallen soul had the courage to look at him like that, but then again Dean was a special case.

A smile born from the paranoia of not pleasing his tormentor beamed the boy's face, brightening it with false innocence. "Do what is asked of me."

Alastair sent his own twisted grin back. "Now...go into the house."

The demon nodded. Walking up the creaking stairs, he reached out and turned the knob of the door. The blue door swung slowly revealing a long dark hallway. Taking in a deep breath, the demon braced himself. He was finally here. After long treks of climbing out of the Pit, of traveling all over the nation, he was Home. Stepping into the darkness, he felt Alastair take the razor from his small hand only to replaced by his prized knife before the door slammed shut.

Tilting his head back, the remaining vestige of Alastair closed his white eyes as moist droplets stained his pale white cheeks pink. "Soon, my boy, you're suffering will be over and all you will know is pleasure. Daddy's here and soon we'll be a happy family once again."

Drawing upon borrowed time, the demon glanced once more at the blue door. He would have to use all his powers to invade the deepest part of Dean's soul. It would not be easy for him as it was for the rejected piece that had crawled itself out of Hell. Truth be told, he had been surprised to see the demon here so fast. Then again, he was Dean and Dean was a fast learner. Inhaling deeply, Alastair gazed down at his fading hand. Soon, he would disappear into the darkness with that deep satisfactory feeling encompassing him. The Master of Pain always hated leaving a job unfinished and this last art piece would become his true masterpiece.

So, Alastair, Hell's Number One Torturer, turned and began to walk to where a small patch of green peeked through the clouds filled with the memories of the damned. It was time for visit number two. Hopefully Dean wasn't armed with a dagger this time.

----------------------------

Ice water numbed his haggard face. Rough fingers reached out pulling at strands of short dirty blond hair. Curling into the porcelain lip of the sink, Dean let the piercing cold of unyielding ceramic seep into his bare chest. Heaving in another breath, Dean watched as blood filled the sink before him.

It was only a matter of time, he mused, before he lost it. He was a human running on empty fumes. The hunter was surprised it had taken this long and torturing Alastair to finally snap. A chocked laugh whimpered through Dean's bruised throat.

Why couldn't he just be left alone? He wasn't ready to fight a no win war, especially one he caused. Running his fingers through the short crop hair, Dean's dead green eyes lifted themselves as if they weighed over a ton. The moment he locked onto the tinted mirror, his weariness exploded in a nova of adrenaline. Pushing himself off the sink, Dean staggered backwards slamming into the pale blue tiles. Pure undiluted fear froze his features before melting into a murky defensive snarl. Before him where his reflection should have been was Alastair. Still in his form of the last host, the Torturer stared an amused look back at Dean.

"_Reality is just too concrete up here, isn't Dean_."

Shaking his head, Dean pressed his palms hard into his eyes till white bursts of light exploded before him. "You're not real, not real, not real."

"_Oh, I'm real, kiddo_," purred the demon in that familiar lisp.

Peering through his fingers, Dean kept his focus on his worst nightmare as he inched towards the doorway. "Sam says you're dead." Spotting the stiff but welcoming bed off to the side, Dean froze midway when Alastair's voice tickled coldly against his ear.

"_You don't truly believe that, do you Dean_?"

A spike of blinding pain pierced his head. Collapsing onto his knees, Dean fell forward expecting the smooth texture of the cheap lanoline floor. Instead coarse dirt ran through his fingers. As the pain faded away, Dean saw himself kneeling in a wind torn land. Ash and sulfur plagued the air while screams burst out of the cracks.

"Welcome to your soul."

Dean jumped onto his bare feet turning to face Alastair, who stood mere inches away. "What the hell?"

Alastair smiled, eyes narrowing in evil joy. "Exactly, Hell is a part of you-"

Mustering up his shredded dignity, Dean turned his fear into rage. "Get out of my head now!"

Full-blown laughter erupted out of the white-eyed demon. "Dean." Chiding him like a child, Alastair tilted his head slightly downwards, locking glinting eyes with Dean's. "I'm inside that…angsty little noggin of yours."

Shaking his head, Dean covered his ears and began to chant ignoring Alastair as the demon strode up to the human. "Wake-up, wake-up, wake-up."

All playfulness vanished into the air. "Much like you, I'm living on borrowed time and I want you to meet someone."

Dean lowered his hands, confusion pulling him into the conversation. "Who? I don't want anymore unwanted guests in my head thank you very much."

"Oh, but you already know him." Alastair reached out and grabbed Dean by the wrist. With a powerful thrust, Hell's Torturer yanked Dean down onto the ground. Crashing on his knees, Dean felt his shoulder groan out in protest as it was twisted into an unnatural position. Alastair always showed his sick affection by administrating pain. Even topside, the demon would always hurt him first as if to say hello.

"I'm going to need your cooperation, Dean, otherwise this is going to be painful for you both."

Dean struggled against the vice-like grip. "Like Hell!"

Alastair rolled his eyes and with his free hand snapped his fingers. The scene changed immediately. Dread dropped a bombshell into Dean's stomach as he felt shackles around his wrists with his back pressed against the unnatural texture of metal. The poorly lit room did little to conceal the rotating fan or the rusting pipes overhead. He should have known this room was going to haunt him for the rest of eternity.

He knew all this without looking. For Dean's entire world was focused on a long pale hand skimming across the array of rusting knives like a lover's caress before halting before a curved bone-handled blade with intricate carvings.

"You started out perfectly, my boy. Building the tension by setting up perfectly and taking your sweet time in keeping quiet. And the holy water injection…a stroke of genius." Alastair tilted his head to the side, peering underneath hooded eyes. Dean could feel the joy oozing out of the man. Twisting harder against his bindings, Dean fought back the wave of nausea. He remembered all too well how not too long ago he would drown himself in that twisted sea of pride.

"But like I said, you still have a lot to learn." Without breaking eye contact, the white-eyed demon reached out for the serrated-edge blade. "The bell has run. Pick up your pencils. Turn over your test. It's time for class to begin."

------

His raw back scrapped against the chipped stone laden ground. Dean hadn't even fought back as Alastair unclasped him from the star-shaped rack breaking back into the vast wasteland. Sliding into a boneless heap, he barely felt the demon's blood-soaked hand wrap around his ankle and began to drag him towards some building off in the distant. All the hunter knew was that his mind and body were shutting down automatically. The months above ground had yet to fade away the honed instincts he had in Hell.

_Don't fight Alastair_.

There is nothing he could do on the rack except snap back and when he was off, the fear of going back forced him into a submissive posture. Sure, Dean had tried to stab the demon back at that one church, but he hadn't known it was him. The man was wearing a pediatrician, for Christ's sake! Yet, when he realized who it was…

_Don't fight him_.

One or two witty comebacks was good enough but don't fight him. Hell, Dean was surprised that he wasn't killed when he had slammed that crowbar into Alastair's face back in the barn. Then again, he was almost chocked to death.

_Don't want to feel his razor ever again._

Alastair glanced downwards at his wayward prodigy. "I'll forgive you with the whole church ordeal what with me wearing a pediatrician. But slamming me with a crowbar to save your angel and lets not get into the whole torture issue and you denying me once again all because of that weak blue-eyed winged freak." Hatred dripped out of Alastair's mouth, "Three strikes and you're out." He twisted Dean's ankle with a quick motion. A loud crack drowned in the piercing, hoarse scream.

The white-eyed demon closed his eyes in bliss, soaking in those delicious noises. No other soul affected him like Dean did. He was one of a kind, a precious diamond in the rough.

"Al-alas-" Dean's broken voice halted the demon ghost in his tracks.

Kneeling down, he reached out and patted Dean on the cheek, "Don't worry kiddo. Be a good compliment soul and this will all be over."

Trying to move away from Alastair's touch, Dean shook his head weakly. A strength he didn't know he still had muttered, "…no…"

Alastair sighed, his hand traveling downwards till it circled the yellow and green throat. "Don't tell me you forgot the Truths, Dean."

A whimper was his only reply. Alastair tsked quietly, "Dean," he drawled out the name. "Say them." With emphasis, he began to squeeze on the soft flesh. He pressed hard on the veins careful to avoid the windpipe. He didn't want Dean dying on him now.

"Say them."

Green eyes widened, a fog overcoming their defiance. Dean felt a strange fluttering in his stomach cooling his burning limbs. He knew the answers with certainty. Familiarity at this entire situation gave him a reprieve when the outside world was vastly different. He was lost out there, didn't know how the world operated anymore. Answers he thought were right, were wrong. People he thought he knew were showing different facades. Black and white, allies and enemies were colliding in a muddy mixture of gray. Confusion was his middle name since he had been reborn. But this, this never changed. In forty years, they remained a rock he could lean on, just like Alastair's presence and his deal.

Numbness filled his entire being, his mind falling blank, back to the state he was when he took up the white-eyed demon's razor for the first time. Like a trained soldier, but not obedient for Alastair did not want a blunt instrument, Dean responded with flat confidence. "The soul," a painful wheeze escaped as the demon pressed harder, "always heals."

Nodding approvingly, Alastair waited. And he was rewarded with a soft moan. "You are…Lord here."

Leaning down till he was a hair's breath away from Dean's pale face, Alastair grinned widely, revealing a row of sharp, pearly white teeth. "And what's the Third Truth, Dean…" He paused to smell the fear radiating off of his favorite toy, who clearly hated the breech in space. "The one just between you and me."

One deep squeeze, his white-eyes narrowed in dark pleasure as Dean's eyes rolled backwards. Counting to ten, he slowly released his hold, skimming his hand down the young man's tattered chest, feeling every rib underneath the thin skin.

Inhaling shaky breaths, Dean focused his blurry eyes on the one thing that he had grown accustomed too. The one demon that had become a constant just like Sam and Dad were, that Castiel was becoming. He was one twisted, sick human there was no denying that. It didn't matter that Sam was screwing a demon or using his physic powers, Dean would always be ten times worse in that he started to view Alastair almost like a father…like family. 'S_tupid Stockholm Syndrome_,' sneered a tiny voice in Dean's head. It was back in full force. And Dean couldn't help but feel grateful.

"Do," he croaked out, remembering the age-old mantra of '_Don't fight_' ringing in his head. "what…" He watched as Alastiar licked his lips. A part of him welled up in disgust. The eldest Winchester couldn't believe he was giving in like this. One session and he was a whimpering mess, the remains of his shattered soul being grinded into dust. But at the same time, a distant part of himself rejoiced. Despair pulled out the next word. "is…"

Alastair held his breath waiting for the words '_asked of me' _when the wind and screams shifted every so slightly.

A sharp burning pain hissed through Dean's busted lip. Alastair peered to the right, Dean following his gaze. Both stared at the raised burn mark of a hand on Dean's upper right shoulder. Dean was vaguely aware of Alastair snarling as the mark seemed to brighten by the second.

He was coming. Dean felt a wave of relief wash through him. Was this how it was when he was first pulled out of Hell? Relief? Crying Joy?

Smiling sadly, Dean didn't cringe as Alastair grabbed his chin pulling his face to make contact with his. Hope was taking root within those lost orbs.

"Another time, boy." With that, Alastair faded into a pale, barely visible wisp of smoke just as a warm bright light touched itself gently against the mark. The last thing Dean was aware of was the light wrapping its hand around his shoulder as if it had done it a million times before he was pulled away from his nightmares.

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A/N: And now things are heating up. Ok, I just had to bring Alastair back...sorta of, kinda of. He's just way to fun a character. That and I was so tempted to summon him so he could torture those evil computer viruses. Well, laters! Enjoy tonight's episode cause I know I'm gonna need some tissues and ice-cream afterwards.


	7. Chapter 7

A/N: Is it me or is it strange that I can only write this story late at night. Anyways, it's finally my finals week. Totally excited that I'm officially done with school at the moment. And that there's a road trip coming up, yes!!! So, like I planned to make up for my almost long month absence I'm going to post the next couple of chapter this week. I don't want to leave you guys hanging. So here's the first chapter. I'm planning on updating two more times, so yay for you guys!!

Also, Happy Mother's Day!!!!!!

**Save me from myself**

Opening his eyes, the first thing that greeted Dean was the brass nail that stuck out slightly from the floorboard. The thin piece of wood was a boundary between the unforgiving surface of cracked linoleum and the sinking forest of the questionable carpet. Blinking back tears to wash away the sting of sulfur, Dean felt a warm hand pressed against his marked shoulder.

Rolling slightly, Dean pushed himself wearily into a sitting position, feeling every bone in him ache. The hand never wavered once from its position. Closing his eyes, Dean took in a deep breath before rasping out. "Heya Cas."

Castiel squat as close to Dean as he could in the narrow doorway. Leaning slightly against the doorframe for support, coat sinking against the floor, the angel kept his hand over a perfectly match burned mark. "I told you to be more careful Dean."

The soft flat voice made the broad shoulders of the human hunch over. Leaning forward, he waited for the hand to break contact. He hated being this weak and vulnerable in front of anyone, but… Tilting his head slightly, Dean opened his eyes into slits taking in the soft hand not hardened by years of fighting. It was a hand of a normal person, yet staring where one skin touched his, the red line of his mark reminded Dean that this person was beyond normal…beyond everything. And that somehow made it ok when deep down Dean didn't want that hand to move. He wanted to feel the one thing that was keeping him anchored in this world. He felt shame twist within him at how close he had given into Alastair just because the demon provided false comfort knowing full well how the man operated. Feeling himself sink, Dean fought back a chocking wave of desolation as he realized how broken he truly was to find comfort in torture.

Raising his eyes, Dean stared hard into the moving emotionless face of his angel. Castiel stared back, his deep blue eyes never blinking, never breaking contact. He etched the lost, tormented look on Dean's face. It was an exact replica of the face the hunter wore when he discovered Mary's deal with the Yellow-Eyed Demon. It was a face of helplessness and despair.

Something thick and hard swelled in his chest. A part of him called it sorrow at how much pain this human was suffering. He could cut through it with a knife. "Come."

Eyes flashed to watch Castiel remove his hand from his shoulder. Longing tugged itself a frown as a whiplash of self-loathing radiated off of Dean. He wasn't even worthy enough to be comforted by an angel. A simple act was denied to him. His clashing feelings morphed into dark anger. Well fine with—

Pausing in his destructive thoughts, Dean blinked as the same hand was stretched out before his face. Trailing up the arm, he took in the standing form of Castiel, whose head was titled to the side, eyes brimming with sympathy. The headlights from a car passing by split light into the room illuminating the thick, dark brown spiked hair. For a second, Dean swore that the light hovered over Castiel's head, beaming from a source directly behind the angel forming almost a ring of light while hinting at the outline of wings.

Just for a second, Dean saw Castiel in his true form. For a second, he saw something holy and felt as if that light was sending hope and love in the shape of an outstretched arm.

Swallowing, Dean blinked the moment lost forever in time. It was just a play of the light; nothing more muttered a dark voice. How could he, Dean Winchester a monster created in Hell, have the right to set eyes upon something so beautiful? It wasn't deserved. And so that shimmer of hope shriveled up and died within him.

Knocking away the hand, Dean staggered onto his feet, laying a hand on the doorway for support. Glancing around the motel room, he took in surroundings making a quick check on the salt lines, hex bags and weapons nearby. Everything was in place. Except Sam was nowhere in the room.

"How long?" he croaked. Pushing himself forward, Dean limped slightly, pins and needles shooting up his leg. He must have been out for a long time for his leg to fall asleep. Reaching out, he grabbed the discarded blue shirt off the chair eyes flickering to the glitter of his knife lying on the ground.

Castiel walked behind Dean, stopping in the middle of the room in front of Sam's bed. "Not long."

Pulling his shirt over his head, Dean straightened himself out trying to look halfway decent. He could feel every cut Alastair had made on him; hear the clanking of chains ringing in his ears. Sleep was out of the question. Furrowing his forehead, Dean turned slightly to regard the standing figure of Castiel. "Did you see anything?" "_Did you see Alastair_?"

Castiel dropped his eyes, "I merely sensed your distress Dean. I cannot see precisely what you dream. It is more like brief flashes of incongruent fuzzy images. But I do know it had to do something of your time in Hell…" Pausing, Castiel curled his fingesr over the ends of his sleeves, a human-like gesture. "Of Alastair."

The name seemed to fall like a pin between the two men, dropping the temperature in the room. Shivering, Dean flopped onto his bed running a hand through his sweat soaked hair. Before his eyes, he saw the white-eyed demon grinning ear to ear as he 'properly showed' Dean how to use needle beyond its function of injection. "Can I ask you a question?"

Castiel nodded briskly, as he sat down on the corner of Sam's bed, straightening his coat to make it more manageable. Dean's eyes roamed everywhere on the floor, taking in the clumps of dirt, crumbs of food and stains. He looked everywhere but at those soul-piercing eyes. "Is Alastair dead?"

The angel bit back a sigh. Hiding his uneasiness of the question, he leaned backwards slightly straightening his posture. Had Sam told Dean the truth…the entire truth? Sliding his eyes to Dean's hunched figure, Castiel found himself wondering if his charge was ready to hear what happened. The hunter had just been released from the hospital and had learned the truth behind his resurrection. Could Dean suffer another blow? Regret twisted his stomach, making him flinch at the strange feeling.

He remembered all too well how when he first laid his hand on Dean, the soul fought with a ferocity that made him fully believe that all was lost. He had seen how Alastair looked upon Dean with pride while the young demon drank up the praise like a parched desert. They were close and this overpowering resistance; sneering and sizzling at his form proved that Dean Winchester did not want to leave what he considered his home.

Looking upon the black eyes, he feared that Dean had become what he had hunted. Then, he sensed the tiniest flicker of relief hidden behind layers and layers of rage and pain. Goodness still remained in the righteous man. It was then that Castiel knew his orders were just. And when Alastair joined in the battle for Dean's soul, the angel banished all his doubt, exorcized the demon and unknowingly the demonic part of Dean's soul before carrying the battered soul back to the light. With every beat of his mighty wings, Castiel felt hope flood the soul as that flicker of relief blazed into a wildfire of joy.

"Cas?"

Castiel blinked finding Dean eying him with a concerned look on his face.

"You ok?"

Nodding, Castiel let his voice carry a shade of appreciation. "I am. You have nothing to worry about." The moment he found Dean collapsed in the doorway between the bathroom and the bedroom, he feared that Dean was dead. He could barely sense his charge's soul, who was so deep in Hell's memories it had surprised him. So, Castiel did the only thing he could after trying to wake Dean by shaking him softly, he dove into the sulfur and red-stained dreams of Dean, gripped him tight and raised him from his personal perdition.

Eyes looking upwards slightly, Castiel realized that Dean was not ready for the truth, at least not the whole truth. He had heard that sometimes the victim grew close to its tormentor to ease its suffering. That while the criminal was dead or in prison, the victim would actually lament for its tormentor instead of rejoicing. He feared this might become the case with Dean and Alastair.

"You're not going to answer me are you?" scoffed Dean, eyes narrowing in annoyance.

Castiel kept his face schooled, "Why do you think Alastair is dead?"

Dean groaned, hating Fate that he got stuck with the angel that never gave a straight answer talked in riddles and answered a question with a question. He had a feeling that it would take a miracle, how ironic, or the day Hell froze over, not likely happening, or the day when pigs flew before Castiel gave him a straightforward answer. "Let's just forget I asked."

"No," Castiel's voice held an edge to it. "Tell me Dean, why?"

Face darkening, Dean couldn't break his gaze as Castiel scooted slightly forward, leaning into his personal space. Pinned under such an intense stare, Dean couldn't hide anything. "Sam told me."

"And you don't believe him?" Castiel's brow furrowed slightly in the familiar expression that Dean dubbed 'Inquisitive Cas.'

"_You don't truly believe that, do you Dean," _whispered Alastair's voice. Dean hugged himself slightly, fighting back the painful cramp when a ghost of Alastair's touches ran over his shoulders.

"He is your brother," pressed Castiel.

"Well, Sam hasn't been truthful as of late," snapped Dean quickly. A part of him was surprised as the burst of anger towards his brother's behavior. "He says one thing, then does another." Glaring at the pillows of Sam's bed, he sniffed. "Besides…"

Castiel's mouth tightened slightly. "Besides what Dean?"

Dean shook his head, closing his eyes. He wasn't ready for this baring of the soul. It wasn't him. But he couldn't stop. Ever since he told Sam about Hell, confessions poured out of him like a leaky faucet, tidbits here and there sporadically at the strangest of times. "Nothing. Just forget it…I'm sorry I snapped." Sighing loudly, Dean sent a weak grin at the angel. "Just tired and still ticked off that the hospital didn't have any hot nurses." Quirking his eyebrow, he added quickly, wanting to change the topic. "So what are you doing here? Come to give us another mission?"

He felt Castiel's eyes darken at the mention of the hospital. Green eyes widened when Dean watched with awe as Castiel's shoulders slumped further. The winged creature looked like Sam did when he was guilty of something. "What is it Cas?"

"I…" Pausing, Castiel sought for the right words yet he was beginning to find that the human language was much harder to master than he thought. For what he felt and meant to say could never be fully translated in such simple constructs of sound. "Am not here for a mission."

"Oh? A social visit?" Dean's voice lightened, yet there was strain to it. "That's new. Usually, people do that during the day and bring pie or something—"

Castiel shot Dean a dark look, mouth twitching slightly. "Dean I am sorry."

The hunter felt the world stop moving. Jaw dropping; Dean stared at Castiel, green eyes wild with bewilderment. Did he just hear what he thought he heard?

"Wh-"

"I am sorry for making you torture Alastair, for not saving you sooner." Face tightening, Castiel jerked his head slightly to the side, trying to control the flood of negative emotions that angels were not suppose to feel. "I should have known Uriel…" Before his eyes, Castiel replayed every moment he had with Uriel since they paired up after Dean's resurrection seeing clearly the signs of his brother's betrayal.

A rough hand gently touched on his own that was lying helplessly on his leg. Glancing down, blue eyes took in the rough hand that had to dig itself out of a coffin and six-feet of dirt. It was not at all like another slim hand with perfectly manicured nails that had later on wielded a sword killing Uriel.

Eyes traveling up the defined arm of a young man, but whose soul was old, Castiel stared into eyes shimmering of understanding.

"It's ok, Cas." Smiling, Dean pushed away the nightmares. He needed to remain sane for Cas. The angel needed it. It was his turn to save the angel. "You couldn't have known that Uriel was a modern day wanna be Cain."

"But-"

"Hey man, he was your brother. And when it comes to family, we tend to have a blind eye." Dean grimaced inside at the hypocrite sentence. He was a prime example of trying not to believe that Sam was going dark side yet deep down he knew that he was losing his brother. "But, all that matters was that you were there in the end. Who knows what Alastair would have down if you hadn't come in and laid some of that angel mojo on him to kill him."

Castiel's eyes twitched and for a second he wanted to correct Dean that he had not killed Alastair. That it was Sam. He was about to open his mouth, when Dean held up his hand.

"Cas, I forgive you."

Something strange happened the angel right then. First it started off as a small stream before morphing into a geyser of warmth. Elation flooded his senses. Dean had forgiven him. Castiel lowered his eyes feeling humbled before this mortal. The sensation was overpowering. Certainty filled his core. Raising his head, Castiel looked upon Dean's confused face.

"You sure you're ok, dude?"

A hint of a true smile brightened Castiel's face before falling back into its stoic nature. Dean felt his mouth go dry at the rare touch of humanity on the angel.

"For the first time in a long time, I am." Castiel echoed words he had stated with certainty before his fight with Uriel.

Dean shook his head, breaking contact with Castiel as he stood up. "You're one weird angel, Cas. I think you've been hanging out with us too long." Scratching his head, the hunter halted his hand to stop Castiel from saying any other cryptic words. "No more chick-flick moments, dude. I think I've had enough to last me a lifetime."

Turning his back, the hunter walked over the table where the remote was. He was in shock that Castiel apologized but more yet, he was surprised to see how profound a change occurred in the angel. One minute, Castiel is all guilt ridden the next he is as a bouncy as a five-year old. If only he could accept such forgiveness as willing as Castiel, but his stubborness was too ingrained in him.

"Dean."

Castiel's voice wrapped around him like a blanket blocking out the searing coldness of Hell. Turning, he eyed the angel. "Yeah?"

The angel was standing between the beds; face serious and no longer conflicted. Staring deeply at Dean's haggard form, he knew that Dean was not ready for the truth. Yes, he would let him heal and to do such…

"Sam has not left."

"Uh?" Dean's face morphed into a lost look, "What the hell are you rambling about now?"

"Sam has not abandoned you. He is sitting outside on a bench, trying to find his own peace." Taking steps till he was face to face with Dean, Castiel leaned forward breaking Dean's space. He needed Dean's full attention. "Despite his…unfavorable actions, Sam loves you, Dean. You are his reason for everything."

Stepping backwards, Castiel watched as Dean took in his words. Dean needed Sam to find the strength within himself to heal. He saw that clearly now, ever since the moment Sam had stalked up to him in the hospital demanding him to do a miracle for Dean.

Dean needed Sam. And Sam needed Dean.

"Rest and heal, Dean." Dean's eyes shot up to him, a child-like innocence shining from him. Hope was fragile in him, but it was there. "I will help carry some of your burden."

Castiel looked once more at Dean, sensing darkness in the far reaches of the tormented soul stir slightly. Something was not right. Straightening his shoulders, Castiel found himself with a mission of greater importance. Not only would he find the angels that defected to join Uriel's cause, the angel woul seek Revelation about the ominous presence he felt within Dean. His charge was in danger and as Dean saved him, he would in turn do the same.

Sending a quick prayer to his Father that Dean and Sam not walk upon the path that Castiel and Uriel walked, the angel vanished into the air without making the slightest of noise.

"Thanks Cas," Dean whispered, but by then, Castiel was gone.

Taking in a deep sigh, Dean quickly threw on his coat and shoes stepping out into the brisk early morning air. Taking in a deep breath, Dean tugged on his tough exterior to hide away his wounds. Sam couldn't see him like this. True to Castiel's words, his little brother was sitting a few doors down on a wooden bench staring out into the parking lot.

"You're butt's gonna be an ice-cub if you don't come in right now," spoke Dean in a stern voice.

Sam jumped slightly, his hands tightening in his coat pockets as his head jerked to the side. Hazel eyes widened then fell into their normal positions. "What are you doing out here, Dean?"

"What do you think?" huffed Dean as he took his place next to Sam. "Someone's gotta look out for you when you're on your stupid streak."

Sam sighed, tilting his head upwards taking in the clear night sky. The stars shone brightly, the constellation of Orion shining brightly before him. "I just needed some fresh air, thought it would help me fall asleep."

"How's that working?"

"Not good."

Dean sighed, tilting his own head backwards to stare into the sky. "Sam."

"Yeah."

"Thanks for being here."

Sam shot Dean a stunned look. "What?"

Dean lowered his own head, sending a soft smile at his little brother. Green eyes took in every wrinkle and baggy eyes on Sam's face. In the light of a neon sign, his little brother looked strung-out as if he was about to break. Dean kicked himself for not protecting Sam. He knew how overboard his brother could get if Dean was seriously injured. "I'm your big brother."

Sam eyes scrunched into their puzzled expression, but Dean continued. "Bitch."

Sam's face broke into a wide smile, an honest smile that blasted away the roughness that was Sam into the innocence of Sammy. In that moment, Dean swore that he would protect Sam from his little brother's decisions and Hell's minions. If he had to, Dean would protect Sam from himself. Whatever Alastair had planned, Dean would resist till the day he died….again.

"Jerk."

Dean shook his head, letting out a short laugh. Nudging his head back to their motel, he rose to his feet, "Come on Sasquatch, my bed's calling me."

Sam laughed and followed Dean back to their room. The youngest Winchester didn't know why but that familiar exchange of words were exactly what he needed to hear in order to come to peace with his actions. After hours of mediating on his actions, Sam swore when Dean uttered that one word that he would continue on this path. He had to repay Dean, protect him for a change.

And as they walked back, Dean held onto his hope and determination that somehow Castiel had instilled in him when he said that Sam was here. To find out that his little brother wasn't with Ruby during his darkest hours made him feel that Sam still had his back, was still Sammy underneath it all…that family was number one. Yet underneath all his new armor, Dean tried to cover the massive hole, its' cracks already spreading everywhere. This new mask wasn't going to last long. Already he could feel Alastair preparing for their next little 'lesson'.

"_I am sorry_."

An angel asked for his forgiveness. No one had done that. He didn't feel worthy enough, but here was an angel that had respected him even knowing what he had done in the Pit. It made him feel a little above the scum that he saw himself as. Lying upon his bed, he heard Sam collapse on his and soon the youngest Winchester's snores were filling the room. Dean continued to lie on his bed, staring down at the discarded knife.

An angel apologized and Dean felt peace fill him briefly when he said those three words. The eldest Winchester clung to his brother's relieved face and the revere Castiel had given him. He just hoped it was enough to survive another round with his own version of the Devil. His role of protecting this family braced his soul as his eyes closed themselves only to open to the gothic worn-down room of a warehouse.

"_I do hate it when we're interrupted, don't you Dean_." Alastair's voice was dark, rage bumbling underneath the surface. It was the verge of being released from its cage and Dean knew exactly where it would be lashing.

Finding himself back on the star, Dean locked eyes with Alastair. "_Yeah, but what can I say, I'm a popular guy_." Forcing away the fear already sending his mind into panic, he let his mouth curve into a smirk. "_Sorry to break your hopes, but I kinda like it on here. Much more comfortable than the wooden rack_."

Alastair paused in his arrangement of weapons. Taking a step forward, he reached out and grabbed a hold of Dean's chin. "_I so did love that defianent streak in you, Dean_. _I must confess, I was a bit disappointed at how easily you broke during our last session._" Smiling darkly, the white-eyed demon raised a familiar razor blade to Dean's face. "_Just like the good ol' days. But unlike those times, sonny, I already know the quickest route in the maze_."

With that he cut out Dean's tongue.

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A/N: What? Did you think I would truly heal Dean that fast? And it doesn't help I'm still mulling dark thoughts over my computer. And did you see the new Space Promo?! Freakin awesome!!! Well, laters!


	8. Chapter 8

Disclaimer: I don't own any of these characters, they belong to the evil genius that is Kripke.

A/N: Yay for campus computer labs! I wrote this one just right before my computer got invaded by demonic viruses. Where's a devil's trap and salt lines when you need it? Well, anyway seeing the new Star Trek movie made up for it. And I so should be studying right now, but not really caring at the moment. I hope to get one more chapter up before I leave and go on a huge roadtrip. Thanks again for all the reviews, you guys are rockin my world!

**My invisible best friend**

Sitting on a forgotten park bench, an angel took in the empty playground. The small green monkey bars, slide and swing set were covered in a soft layer of red, orange and yellow leaves. The crisp air tickled his lungs with a sense of wonderment. How could so many smells merge together to create this perfect perfume of fall? It baffled the angel's mind at how his Father's creations continued to surpass all logical boundaries. Deep blue eyes that reflected the calm waters of the lake glanced down the side, watching with bemusement at a squirrel sniffing the ground for scraps of trash.

This pleasant feeling warmed the angel unlike any other feelings he was starting to experience. Ever since he left the motel room, the angel felt at peace. With each step he took on this new path before him, Castiel no longer feared being alone or lost without hearing any orders. Thinking for himself was exhilarating, the rush of choosing simple whether to walk or fly becoming an addiction he did not want to stop.

"I must say you seem almost chipper," spoke a commanding voice next to him. "Can I ask what's your secret Castiel?"

Castiel schooled his features, back straightening, shoulders no longer slumped as he turned and faced his superior. Zacheriah wore his dress-blue suit, hands clasped behind his back as he stood before the bench. The warm golden sun cast an unearthly glow around the vessel's balding gray head.

"I am merely enjoying our Father's creation," answered Castiel, voice void of any traces of the joy he felt mere seconds ago.

Zacheriah nodded, sending his steel gaze out across the lake. "The last time I saw you, you were troubled. Uriel's betrayal hurt you deeply and I almost feared that you would fall."

Castiel stared out across the waters, eyes soaking in the quiet ripples, each flash of white reflecting on his own shifting eyes. "I was in a dark place…but I have sought solace and prayed for forgiveness for his soul." Eyes narrowing to block out the flash of light as the sun set behind the trees, he whispered softly. "I am at peace."

"If you are peace, Castiel, then why do you constantly worry about Dean?"

Lips thinned forcing back the fear that threatened to spill forth. Gazing upwards, he found Zacheriah staring coldly back at him. The stern look of his superior made him want to squirm and fly away. But Dean would not run. "I worry because the only man who can end this war is beyond repair."

Zachariah chuckled, "Castiel, no one is beyond repair."

Blue eyes tightened as a dark look fell onto the younger angel's face. "What happened to Dean with Alastair…" Taking in a deep breath to ease away his guilt, Castiel pushed himself forward. Familiar anger that he felt when Sam accused him back in the hospital sharpened his words. "Alastair told him the truth of why he was brought back to life. Dean was never supposed to know."

Zacheriah stood silent like a marble statue, soaking in the statement. While his ears absorbed the argument, his eyes took in the twitches of anger, guilt and…Tilting his head slightly; the superior couldn't help but grin. Protectiveness for the human peeked behind the curtain of the stone mask. Castiel took a deep breath, trying to recover himself as his eyes broke away and looked towards the ground. The small scowl tugging at the chapped lips reminded him of something Dean had done when he watched from the hospital after Castiel had left.

Zacheriah mused, "_Dean's rubbing off on Castiel_." Clearing his throat, the angel tugged his pant legs up before seating himself next to the younger man. "Dean would have found out eventually. Yet, this is not the true reason."

A soft sigh was the only response. Silence filled the air between the two warriors of God. Finally, it was Castiel that broke the truce. Shifting uneasily, he leaned forward resting his arms and intertwining his fingers. Resting his chin on his fists, Castiel took comfort in the move. It reminded him of how humans sought communication with Father through prayer. "I…visited Dean recently."

"That was not in your orders."

"I had to make sure he was…better. It would do no good for Heaven to lose its' most prized weapon because we did not watch out over it and helped it heal." A part of himself wanted to cringe at this viewpoint, but he had to cover his tracks.

Zacheriah grinned at the statement. Castiel always did have a way of persuading people to his perspective, of finding loopholes in the enemy's argument. It was one of the reasons why he was kept assigned to Dean, for if anyone could win the hunter's stubborn mind to work in their favor it was him. If there were an adjective to describe Castiel in the human language, it would be sneaky.

"I agree, but that does not make your action right. You were told not get to close to Dean, Castiel."

Castiel's brow furrowed as he shot his superior a challenging glare. "There is something within Dean Winchester. Something dark."

"Of course, it's his stained soul, Castiel."

"That is not it. I remembered how his tainted demonic soul was ripped out of him during the struggle. This was different." Shaking his head, Castiel broke the gaze, fixing it on the water lost in thought. "It reminded me of Alastair."

"Which cannot be possible?" Zacheriah felt his interest peak. If it were possible that Dean was infected by a demon, then all would be lost.

"I watched Sam Winchester burn Alastair till nothing remained." Lowering his head, Castiel couldn't help but watch as the flood of memories of Sam standing, arm stretched out, face lit with dark pride as he destroyed the demon that had caused Dean so much pain. "Could there be a way for him to leave a trace behind? Demons, especially such ancient powerful ones know of unholy methods of binding themselves to their victims."

Zacheriah heard the worry creep into Castiel's tone. Eyes narrowing into slits, he pushed himself off of the bench. "There is no such method. Alastair is dead by the hands of Samuel Winchester. Even if we do not condone his methods, this is a victory." Taking three steps he stood before the conflicted angel. "Castiel, you are an angel of the Lord. I can sense that you are starting to trend far from the path, brother. These emotions are making you weak, preventing you from focusing and conducting a proper exorcism."

Castiel's body twitched, feeling the pain of his easy defeats. Shoulders slumping, he swallowed hard. In a quiet voice, he asked, "What should I do?"

"I want you to no longer have contact with the Winchesters in no form whatsoever." The dark head shot upwards, eyes wide with shock. Before protest could be uttered, Zacheriah raised his hand silencing the angel. "Until I revoke this order, you will be on leave. Seek guidance amongst the skies, brother. I pray you find yourself once again. For Castiel," leaning down, Zacheriah let his true voice boom through the mouth of his vessel. "This is your second warning. One more and you know what will happen."

In a burst of wind, the superior angel left Castiel sitting alone on the bench. Blinking rapidly, Castiel slowly looked down taking in his shaking hands. Taking in a shuddering breath, he willed his hands to curl into themselves trying to stop the shaking. Bubbling laughter pulled the angel out of his stupor.

Tilting his head upwards, Castiel watched two dark haired brothers run onto the playground. The youngest one with a pair of glasses laughed all the way, pouncing on the nearest swing. The eldest had his baseball cap tugged low over his brow clambered up the boards, halting on the highest set. Raising his arms, he pounded against his chest. "Hey, Calvin, I'm King of the Mountain!"

The younger rolled his eyes, "Yeah right, Sean, more like King of the Sand Pit."

"Oh shut up!"

The brothers burst into a round of playful bickering before Sean had enough, jumped down from his perch and chased his brother Calvin around the playground. Castiel watched in silence, his confidence filling him once more. Zacheriah's warning rang loud and clear in his head, but he would continue to help Dean on his quest of saving the Apocalypse, but more importantly in saving Sam.

Sean halted feeling a warm wind pass through him. Feeling as if someone was watching, he turned around, his protective streak burning in his veins. No one would hurt his little bro if he had any say in the matter. But all that greeted him was an empty park bench that he could have sworn was occupied by some strange man a few seconds ago.

"Yo, slowpoke you daydreamin again?" Calvin grinned evilly as he drawled out, "About Samantha?"

Sean turned around, a blush bursting on his cheeks. "Am not!" With an injured pride to heal, he resumed the chase with his brother all through the evening till their father and mother came to collect their troubling sons for supper.

—_**A week later**_—

_Time was different here in Hell. To the outside world, sitting in the passenger seat staring endlessly out the window, the hunter looked calm, the stoic expression falling to place as was custom before a hunt. Yet on the inside, days hurtled past him at a break neck speed without stop. In this limbo of endless pain, Alastair retaught Dean Winchester, catching up on lost time. The first few days were full of regular, simple torture. But now the white-eyed demon had upgraded in his methods. After a warm-up session, Alastair released Dean from the rack, dragging him to a simple operating table._

_Bathed in an orange light surrounded by darkness, a memory of a victim from long ago laid bare for all the world to see. Stepping behind him, Alastair would raise Dean's battered hands leading them into driving the knife into the ghost. "Remind you of the old days." Then after the handful screams and Dean's own whimpers at not being able to stop the torture, Alastair would offer up a deal. "Finish it and you won't go back on the rack."_

_With a defeated posture, Dean worked the victim quickly. And thus began his new torture. Dean let Alastair reteach him, afraid that he would go back on the rack. But, on a deeper level, he sought the sliver of sanity that seemed to appear when he sliced into an old soul. The simple, methodical movements calmed him amongst the terror. Alastair seemed slightly pleased and as the hunter moved through each soul, they became blurred with familiar faces. Wiping away blood and sweat, Dean stared down into the exotic face of a beautiful woman he once loved._

_Cassie._

_Gazing down, he eyed the cigarrette lighter that was held underneath her hair. That's right, he was going to burn those thick black locks._

_"Dean, enjoy it."_

_Wounded pride and disgust yanked away the lighter. "...no..." This wasn't him. Sam didn't need Dean becoming that sadistic monster again._

_A sigh tickled the back of his neck. In a blink, he was back on the rack screaming as fire licked the soles of his feet. It would be countless eons till he was off the rack, torturing nameless souls without feeling before finding himself face to face with the memory of Jess. Shaking his head once again, the cycle would resume again. 7 days by standard count, 7 centuries by Hell's tally. Weaving on his feet, exhausted and confused, Dean found himself standing before Gordon's flayed soul._

_"Enjoy it, Dean."_

"Dean!"

Moaning, Dean blinked washing away Gordon's snarling face. Shaking his head, he pushed himself away from the window. Turning he took in Sam's concerned face. "You sure you want to do this?"

Grinning softly, Dean opened up his door and stepped out into the parking lot. Taking in the rundown factory, he took in a deep breath forcing Alastair into the back of his mind. "Yeah."

------------------

A soft groan snarled loudly from the wooden plank into the silent room as an unwanted foot settled on it. Halting, Dean froze, a frown marring his features. The recovered hunter looked well considering his past job involved getting the crap beaten out of him from his old mentor demon then realizing how he started the whole end of the world. All the bruises were gone and his voice had returned to normal. Physically, he was one hundred percent Dean Winchester.

Mentally was another story.

Underneath the cracking grins and shimmering green eyes that joked at his brother, Dean was a broken mirror of his former self. If one looked closely enough, they could see the way Dean held himself had changed dramatically. His arms were close to his chest; body hunched a bit more, a tense aura clutching at him like a reluctant child. Sam would later dismiss this closed, weary posture as a way for Dean to handle himself while on a hunt. A hunt, Dean had begged for involving something nice and simple to get back to his feet: vampires.

Taking in a deep breath, green eyes glanced around taking in every shadow. His body thrummed with anxiety. Licking his lips, he took another step forward into the rundown factory. Shotgun held out in front of him, Dean continued to inch forward into an office. A flash of yellow zoomed by, casting the hallway in an eerie light. Throwing himself flat against the wall, the hunter waited for the car to pass by. In the dusky light, the true face of Dean appeared. His chiseled features were sunken in, dark circles lining his wide eyes. His kept hair was nothing but soaked in sweat and messed up as if he never combed it that day. In addition, his clothes were a bit more layered hinting the fact that Dean's body shivered despite it being a pleasant sixty degrees.

Ask any psychologist and they would say the man appeared to be suffering from post-tramatic stress syndrome. Ask any brother and he would say his brother was a broken man trying to piece himself together. Ask any angel and they would say the man was redeeming himself. Ask the man himself and Dean would bark back a laugh and call you crazy.

Swallowing, Dean glanced behind himself as if to make certain no one was following him. Satisfied, he pushed himself off the wall and continued to make his way to the office. Sam was somewhere else, intent on taking the basement by himself. From the reports, it seemed that there this was a small group of two or three vampires.

Halting at the door, Dean forced his mind to stay focused as he pushed it quietly open. Glancing inside, he took the dark room. Nothing. Not feeling satisfied Dean inched into the room. Standing in the middle, he took in the dusted desk and chairs. Off to the side, he spotted a filing cabinet.

Walking a few more steps, Dean stopped in front of the desk, taking in the penholder and forgotten notepad. Sighing deeply, the elder Winchester let his shoulders relax for the briefest of seconds. He barely blinked when he felt his body being twirled around before pushed on top of the desk. Back slamming painfully, he struggled but his entire body betrayed him and was frozen in its' lying position.

Leaning over him, Alastair smirked. "_Do you really think this is going to fix you? Give you closure?_"

Dean gasped, eyes watering as he felt the familiar burn of his next torture session. "_You-re…I'm…_"

Alastair patted his leg. "_Not asleep or daydreaming_?" Pausing, the demon reached out and grabbed a pen from the holder. "_But I so missed our times together that I was just jonesing to do it again_." Drawing intricate designs on Dean's skin with black ink, Alastair hummed quietly. "_You didn't answer the question, boy_."

"_What question?_" snarled Dean, trying to keep up his bravado. But it was failing, and fast. Day in and day out, with only a few hours to spare, he found himself back on the rack being tortured. And as every day marched forward, Alastair would crank up the times and methods as if he was on a time constraint. It was to the point where Dean could no longer tell what reality was or not. Everywhere he went, he was scared that when he turned the corner Alastair would be leaning against the wall, playing with one of his favorite tools.

"_Do you really think this is going to fix you_?" questioned Alastair. Dean soaked in the words, remembering the real demon hissing the same sentence. Torturing Alastair didn't fix him at all. If anything, he was broken even more.

"_No_," whispered Dean.

Alastair halted his drawing, hovering the pen where Dean's collarbone met with his throat. The small indenture could be lethal if enough force was applied. "_I mean this hunt Dean. Really, why do you keep doing it? It's like hunting yourself_."

Something froze in Dean at Alastair's last words. As if hearing the howling wind blow over the tundra, Alastair's leaned forward, his mouth ghosting over Dean's ear. "_Stay alert, boy_."

Dean blinked just in time to see the demon's vestige slithered into the form of a purple dyed hair, pale woman leap at him, fangs lowering themselves in for the kill. A loud yelp burst through his mouth. Instincts shot his arms forward, one hand slamming itself palm upward into the woman's nose. Hearing a satisfying crunch, Dean let his hands grab the back of the vampire's head. Twisting his body, he sent the creature slamming into the edge of the desk, letting her collapse on the ground.

Jumping from his own prone position, Dean let out a growl. How could he have been stupid and let Alastair hold him like that? Reaching behind him, the hunter drew out the machete that was tucked carefully in the back of his pants. Something began to build within him as he saw the vampire crawl back onto her feet. Blood split forth from her broken nose making a thick splash onto the concrete floor. Gordon's tattered soul flashed before his eyes.

Fingers curled into a white-knuckle hold around the handle. Dean was tired, tired of everything. Tired of being harassed by a demon thought dead, pushed into a war he reluctantly didn't want to fight all the while trying to save his stubborn brother. It wasn't fair! He was feed-up with life. Now with Alastair messing with him during a hunt, a thin white line was drawn. Dean Winchester was not going to die on a hunt because some freak in his head was playing with him. Green eyes zoomed in on the black eyes of the vampire.

"_It's like hunting yourself."_

Red seeped into Dean's vision. He was grouchy and a grouchy hunter with an exhaustive fury was not a good thing. All he wanted to do was hit something and hit it hard. And that did not entail all the sicks tortures he was conducting inside his head. No, he needed it to be physical. "I'm nothing like you," snarled a dark voice.

The female vampire frowned, thinking that the statement was directed at her. But she had little time to respond when the hunter lunged at her with a stone-cold expression, eyes lost in a black sea of rage.

-----

Sam pushed open the metal door walking out into the pale dawn. Panting, he walked quickly over the Impala. The two vampires were dead in the basement but sadly one of the vampires had decided to throw away his machete into the sewer before having its' head chopped off by sliding pane of glass. Pushing his hair upwards, Sam bolted to the car, eager to get the spare ax and find Dean. He didn't like leaving Dean alone still. The injuries might be gone, but the vacant expressions on his brother's face was becoming more and more common as the days went on. Not to mention at night, when Dean's smothered whimpers would jostle him awake.

Dirt crunching under his boots, the youngest Winchester halted surprise dropping his mouth as he neared his destination. Dean was leaning on the tail of the Impala, head bowed slightly with a bottle of Jack Daniels dangling between his fingers.

"Dean, everything ok?" Taking tentative steps forward, Sam took in the blank expression on his brother's face. Earlier today, that same face was bright with the excitement of going on a hunt. He thought it was still early but the way Dean pleaded, as in pushed, Sam had reluctantly given in. He was always a bit scared at how child-like Dean got when dealing with a hunt. The older brother acted like it was his birthday or Christmas.

Raising the bottle, Dean swished the liquid, frowning at the small amount was remaining. "Got the other two?"

"Yeah…"

Tilting his head back, Dean finished off the bottle. Coughing, he pushed himself forward and chugged the bottle into the side of the building. The loud crash of glass breaking made Sam jump slightly. Fixing his wide eyes on his brother, Sam felt his breath slowly leave him at the sight of blood on Dean's clothes.

Blood splatter decorated the green outer jacket and jeans, particular the concentration being focused on the sleeves. Reaching out, Sam went to brush Dean's arm mind already searching for wounds. He knew this hunt was a stupid idea. But his older brother knocked away his hand and grabbed the keys from Sam's coat pocket.

Sam turned taking in the retreating back, "Dean, you hurt?"

The groan on the car door opening halted as Dean paused. A distant look befell his features. "Not my blood." Blinking, he nodded slightly as if pleased with the answer.

Sam was having none of this. Reaching out, he grabbed Dean by his arm and hauled him away from the car. "That does it, man. Talk to me."

Dean shrugged his arm to break free, but Sam tightened, using his height as an advantage as he leaned downwards. Hazel eyes were stern and for a minute, Dean saw his father standing before him lecturing him about his mistakes on a hunt.

"Dean. What the heck happened?"

Schooling his features, Dean met his brother's gaze. "Nothing. I just killed the vampire like always."

Shaking his shaggy hair, Sam bit back a sigh. "I know that. I meant what happened with Alastiar? I know how you can't sleep at night anymore and how you're always seem to be looking over your shoulder." Loosening his grip, Sam struggled to remain calm. "You don't have to do this alone."

Dean swallowed eyes flickering to the parking lot. The promise of not being alone in this saving the world was tempting. He should tell Sam that his big idiot of a brother had broken the seal and caused the Apocalypse and he was the only to save them. But the words never could reach his mouth. Sam had enough baggage on his shoulders, he didn't need this or to know that his brother was going insane.

"_How touching_," mused a familiar voice as a cold hand tightened its grip on his shoulder, right above where Castiel's mark was causing Hell to cover his sight. "_Then again you never really liked to share, did you Dean?_"

Feeling the icy-breath tickle his neck, Dean suppressed a shudder. "_Let me tell ya, boy. When you hacked into that vampire…mmmm…you have not disappointed me so far_."

The presence closed around him and Dean did the only thing he could think of to ward the demon away. He struck out fast and hard with his fist. Satisfaction filled him as he made contact with flesh, the hand leaving his shoulder

"_Flesh_?" whispered a sane part of his mind. Darkness pulled back like a curtain revealing a hunched Sam holding his jaw, a trickle of red dripping out of his mouth. Anguish roared its' ugly head. "S-Sam."

The young man peered upward into Dean's wide-eyed face. "Dean, it's-"

But the slamming was the only response Sam received, as his brother hopped into the car. The revving of the engine was the only warning he had before Dean would leave him in the dust.

Running to his side and jumping in, Sam had barely any time to close the door as Dean gunned the pedal and drove off. Glancing over, he took in the hard look as his brother drove as if the Devil were on their tail. "Dean, it's ok man."

Stepping on the pedal, the said man gritted his teeth. "No, it's not Sammy. I freakin' punched you."

"Yeah, well, I kinda knew something like that would happen considering the way you've been acting lately." When silence filled the air, Sam felt himself groan inwardly. His favorite, never-ending game of making Dean talk was about to begin.

"Fine, let's start by what did you mean-?"

Dean's gruff voice interrupted him, "Look, I'm sorry for the punch. I was still in hunting mode. But I don't want to talk about it, Sam."

"Hey, you're the one that wanted to go on this hunt. I'm just trying to understand how one minute you're as excited as a kindergartener to being all cold-hearted and reckless."

Sparing a glance at Sam, Dean took in his brother's concerned face. "Trust me, Sam. You don't want to know." Gazing out front, Dean let the familiarity of driving bleed out the screams of the vampire he had brutally killed.

All the while, he heard Alastair purring in his ear. "_You can't run…Dean...not from me_."

--------------------------------------------

A.N: Hehehe, I'm getting way too excited about writing an evil demon!Dean.


	9. Chapter 9

A/N: Last chapter folks, for a long while. And it's long and I mean long, well it feels long and I didn't want to break this up otherwise the flow would get all distrupted. Either way, nothing to worry your little heads over. Also, I know some of you don't like "Terrible Life" but I weaved it in like pre and post and that's it. Nothing in between. And can you believe it, only two more days till the finale!!! It's gonna be intense!!!

Well, have a wonderful summer everyone and I'll see you in like a month.

**Unwilling Vacation**

"We were so close," reminisced Alastair. "Two of a kind, the Robin to my Batman." Halting in his circling, the Grand Inquisitor gave a final tug, tightening the straps on the squirming figure laid out before him. "There was never a better student than you, Dean. And trust me, I've had countless others."

The soft scraping of feet against the floor made the demon smirk down at the large dark eyes that started up at him. Patting the brown leather straps lovingly, Alastair pivoted on his shoes taking in with one fell swoop the curled figure of the young hunter. Back pressed against the rack, Dean took in a shuddering breath finding the brief pause between his own torture and someone else's a blessed miracle. "No...Alastair...I can't...not this. I'll do anything...but not this..."

"Now, now, Dean." Sauntering over to the shivering mess, the white-eyed demon grinned with satisifaction at the ink symbols that he drew on Dean flicker across the ripped skin like black smoke. "You did such a job with that vampire I thought you deserved a gift." Bending down, he hauled Dean onto weak knees vanishing all the wounds. Green eyes glanced downwards taking in the healed body. Guiding the tired soul to the table, Alastair kept his gaze on Dean whose eyes slowly rose and widened with each step.

"Don't lie about how good it felt to hand out some justice."

"Yeah, but that was-"

"Wasn't human? Dean," lowering his voice to a murmur Hell's torturer moved to stand directly behind Dean, placing the hunter between him and the latest victim. Like a devil perched on the young man's shoulder, he hissed quietly. "Dear little Daddy wasn't human either."

Words seeped into Dean's numb brain, all barriers blasted down from the latest session. Only Alastair could work him over like this, lay him bare to the whole world and play with things so deep within him. Just like now, those words tugged on a belief Dean wasn't even aware of till now. All his life, he placed his father on a pedestal, so high above him that he would never be worthy enough of a son. Then to hear how his own father survived a hundred years on the rack only escalated that idol worship to a new level. What type of man could accomplish such a feat? Even the real Alastair had stated that John Winchester was of something unique...made of something only reserved for heroes. The demon was right, John wasn't human.

A muffle broke through the leather gag pulling Dean out of his train of thought. Dark green eyes surveyed the bound man before him. Dressed in a similar fashion of a hunter's clothing, John Winchester was bound to the surgical table, brown leather straps tying him securely around the ankles, wrists and mouth. Dark black raggedy hair splashed against neutral gray as the wild beard created a stark contrast to the taunt, pale face.

"I can't-" broke Dean, "He's my father."

"Father?" cooed Alastair, "He's no father, Dean. He made you become mindless and obedient like an attack dog. I know you can still hear Daddy's stern voice as clear as a bell." Pausing, the demon watched as young eyes fell in upon themselves. That sanctimonious prick named Uriel might have stated that Dean's pressure point was Sam. And it was, but like all buttons if used constantly it gets worn out. And Dean now knew how to brace himself when dealing with Sam. But, the father issue. It was a shiny brand new button. "Your father only saw you as a good soldier. Daddy's blunt little instrument."

Something flashed across Dean's features, tightening his chapped lips. No rebuke burst forth enticing Alastair to spin more tales.

"But to me, you never were a blunt instrument. I didn't train or boss you around. Instead, I made you flourish Dean. I removed with each slice, poke and prode all those burdens your father placed on your young shoulders. He was the one who couldn't protect his family. He let your mother die. And what type of father orders his eldest son to kill the youngest? And then, if he only would have given in, you would have been spared the guilt of starting the Apocalypse."

Reaching out, he raised each of Dean's arms placing a wire in his left hand. Startled by the contact, Dean titled his head downwards slightly taking in Alastair's long fingers curling over his own.

"Your father was an obsessed man. He deserves to be punished." Alastair ran the length of the wire to contact with Dean's right hand. The hunter trembled slightly reminding Alastair of a young child. He sometimes forgot that despite Dean's excellence in Demon Academy, the soul was roughly 80 years old if one counted the years spent in Hell. Young compared to other demonic souls. "To him you were nothing, but to me you're everything. I doted on you, like he did with Sam. I let your dreams come true."

Raising his hand, Alastair touched Dean's chin lightly turning it so the boy looked straight at him. Conflict spilled forth from those green eyes. "You're not the man your father wanted you to be. You don't deserve what he put on you..." Licking his lips, he leaned in letting his breath ghost over those pale lips. "On Sam. Dean. Make him pay."

Breaking contact, Alastair took a step backwards waiting patiently to see the impact. Dean stood silent like a statue, back tense head bowed slightly as fingers twirled the wire around each other. If Dean was right in the head, he would have noticed the uncanny similarity to Alastair's argument sounding much like how his own demon said back when they were dealing with that dream drug. Yet, all he felt was relief that someone else was uttering those sinful words. A good son would never even think about such notions, but then again Dean no longer saw himself as the 'good' son. Hell, he didn't even feel like a Winchester. He was a shell, nothing of importance.

"_You have such promise_." The lisped voice sparked something deep in his chest. He might have failed at being a hunter, at being a good son, at being a brother and a savior. But there was one thing he never failed at. Rage seethed within Dean. Stepping forward, he stared coldly down at his father's memory. Promise was something his own father never saw in him. It was always about 'Protect Sam' or 'Watch out for Sammy.' Never did the old man ask what he wanted, what he dreamed. Hands tightened and jerked the wire creating a high twang to resonate in the air.

Bending down, his eyes fell onto the fingers that were straining to break free. If Dad hadn't been so damn stubborn in Hell, then none of this would be happening. The end of the world wouldn't have been his fault. He wouldn't be this broken and giving into a demon's arguement. He wouldn't find himself yearning to be like he was during those last years. Alastair stood quietly at Dean's side as the young hunter began to move the wire back and forth on one of the fingers. Listening to the memory screaming as his own son buthered him with a professionalism Alastair loved, a child walked up. Hell's Grand Inquistor to the right and a young Dean eyes completly black to Dean's left, John Winchester tried to scream out his love and pride. But all that made it through the gag were his screams of absolute pain.

--**Outside the motel room**--

It had been a week and for Castiel that was too long in leaving Dean alone with a potential demon. He knew how broken his ward was and he could only pray that Sam was keeping an eye out on his older brother. Searching through endless scrolls and hinting questions to his brothers and sisters, the blue-eyed angel realized two things. One: Uriel's influence in the garrison ran deep. How far, he had yet to discover but either way it was frightening. Secondly: Alastair was truly inside of Dean. It was an old practice that sealed the deal, being able to penetrate the protective tattoo on Dean's chest.

From what he read, eons ago demons kept a tally on how many souls they tortured in order to create a hierarchy. It was how a budding young Alastair was able to become Hell's first Grand Inquisitor and only one he held till only a few days ago. With each soul they tortured and broke successfully, the demon would leave a mark behind with an echo of his essence within it. Only one thing could remove the mark once the soul broke, and that was not raising the soul from the Pit. The mark remained till the torturer himself was exorcised topside or killed. But a man's of Alastair's standing, who rarely went topside, became immune to losing his souls after an exorcism. Hell's Grand Inquisitor was that powerful and a testament to his strength was that even after dying, his mark on Dean's resurrected soul remained while Castiel could only assume his mark on other souls vanished in the Pit.

If anything, the demon's death had caused a whiplash for Dean. The mark was spreading, tainting Dean's bright soul. Alastair last cut was slowly driving Dean insane and if he didn't do something quick, Dean would be lost like like his brother to the darkness. The soft groans seeping through the window above the sounds of a shower running were clear signs that Castiel's conclusion was right. Tilting his head upwards, the angel waited outside the Winchesters' room. He was taking a risk by standing here, but saving Dean was more important than the orders to avoid him. Castiel knew that he didn't have the powers to vanquish Alastair's mark but he knew of someone who did. And now it was all about convincing that angel to do it without getting into trouble. Sighing deeply, the angel let a smile tug at his lips. Truly, Dean Winchester might be the end of him if he didn't watch it.

--**Inside Dean's head**--

Days blurred by as Dean allowed himself to let go, to no longer toe the water but instead plunge head first. That was something Alastair had complimented Dean on, his ferocity at achieving a goal. And today's goal involved tormenting some werewolf that had hurt his brother while on a hunt. With each scream, a semblance of sanity ceased the endless shivers Dean felt since returning back from the Pit. The spinning world was slowing down around him, everything falling into place like ash from a volcano.

Something warm brushed against his leg. Flickering his gaze downwards, Dean smiled warmly at the small boy. Little Dean smiled back, taking up his residency by the older man's side. He first felt the presence a few days ago. Startled at meeting face-to-face his younger self, Dean was about to lash out when an explosion erupted in his mind at the contact. This was him. The lost piece of himself that was left behind in the Pit. Scoffing, he wanted to ask how and why but that was the first time he felt the warmth push away the coldness. The gaping hole was slowly mending itself. His suffering was scabbing over. Losing himself into those coal-black eyes, Dean didn't even blink as he turned around and resumed his torture.

Nodding this time, Dean went back to work letting himself begin to enjoy the activity. The next time he felt the presence, Dean was drowning a witch he had killed years ago on a hunt. Alastair liked to pick to victims both from his past and his time in Hell, which suited Dean fine for he never got bored. Interestingly, Dean found himself musing once, the nightmares that had drive him to become an insomniac were no longer plaguing him.

Taking a break, Dean kneeled down to place a hand on his younger self's shoulder. Peace settled on him like a blanket, the gaping soul decreasing more and more the longer he spent time here.

"Why water?"

Dean smirked, taking in the innocent trusting face reminding him so much of another boy with large hazel eyes that now gazed at him with caution and spoke lies. "Because it's ironic."

"Ironic?"

"Yes, for long ago, people had a theory that witches were suppose to drown while people who weren't floated."

"That makes no sense."

A dark grin danced across Dean's face. "Exactly."

The younger Dean paused, eyes narrowing as he took in the reasoning. "Oh."

Off to the side, Alastair gazed up at the sky. Dean's progress was coming along but the man still held himself back. Guilt from torturing his own father was fresh and binding Dean to this pitiful existence. He needed Dean back the way he was at the end of his ten years, a man free of guilt and disgust. The twisted pleasure needed to be permanent, not just a fleeting feeling. Frowning, the demon bit back a curse as he smelled a familiar sniff. Something holy was nearby.

Tilting his head downwards, the white-eyed demon grinned at the scene before him. Dean was standing slightly behind himself, instructing the younger demon on how to properly execute someone with stripped wire. Walking up to the pair, Alastair clapped his hands drawing the attention from both his boys. Older Dean gazed upon him with eyes a fading gray color. "_So close_," purred Alastair as he hummed approvingly. "Go home, child. There is something I must do."

The demon nodded, black eyes shining with glee at what he hoped would happen. It was about time, he was getting sick playing the innocent, naive younger self. With the youngster back in the house, the closing of the door echoing in the landscape, Alastair turned his full attention to Dean. "See, I knew you would like this guest. Cooperation is a good thing, isn't it. No pain for you at all."

Dean's face darkened, a vague memory of yelliing back tugging at his mind. That was centuries ago and for all he knew the hunt with Sam was a dream while this was reality.

"I heard your cry for help." The area around them dwindled and morphed into the one and only torture room. Stepping in front of the metal star, he continued with his body tense at not knowing how Dean would react. "I can make it permanent."

Gazing around, Dean frowned slightly, "What?"

"_Let's see if we can get the two of you back together again_," echoed softly in the background. Alastair tiled his chin upwards, white eyes glowing behind the shadows. "I can make you whole."

"But-"

"You won't turn, you're above a simple demonic possession. Besides, you are stronger than Sam, Dean. Always have and always will be. That's why your my favorite...son."

Dean closed his eyes briefly and when he opened them up again there was a tray of tools present.

"Your dream."

Fingers itched to touch the tools, remembering how it felt to make that one dream of forty years become a reality. With a flick of his wrist, Alastair was chained back to the star. Dean let that cold rage wash over him. This creature was the cause of all this insanity, of making him torture everything he loved. Now it was his turn to feel all the pain. And if this was the only way to get rid of his demon, Dean would do so gladly. If it meant preventing himself from hurting Sam, then he was going to plunge head first. He was no longer going to be Alastair's puppet in this game of making him go demon again.

Skimming his fingers over the blades, Dean let his voice drop into a rasp. "I was just starting to have fun when you decided to ruin everything."

"That you were my boy. Now put those skill I taught you to use. Pass the exam and I'll leave you forever."

Picking up the tiny razor blade, Dean's green eyes bled into black as they narrowed into slits. "The truth just between you and me." Running his thumb along the edge, Dean let himself smile, drowning himself under the pleasure of exacting revenge. "Do what is asked of me."

Alastair closed his eyes, his own demonic smile spreading like oil on water. "You're a new animal, Dean."

"You're right," growled Dean's voice into the Grand Inquisitor's ear. "But now it's my turn to carve you like a Halloween pumpkin."

With that said, Alastair let his laughter rumble deeply in his chest as Dean sliced the razor across his stomach.

--**Outside**--

A slender man leaned against the wall, standing near the motel door. The tan trench coat dusted lightly against the dirty sidewalk. Hands stuffed deeply into the pockets, tie hanging loosely down the white shirt, an angel of the Lord stood quietly listening to the muffled noises coming from the inside. Blue eyes darkening, Castiel bowed his head in silent pray asking for God to ease this man's suffering.

Even standing outside the stench of Hell seeped through the cracks. Dean's nightmares were getting worse and worse erasing the line between reality and the imaginary. If nothing was done soon, this mortal man would lose his remaining sanity and all would be lost.

"No, don't, please." pleaded the deep voice, breaking through the mattress for the scream was that loud.

Never in his entire life did Castiel wanted to disobey orders, break down the door and hold Dean's shaking form close. Dean would chastise him, calling it a 'chick flick' moment. And it was Dean' pride that held Castiel to his spot, letting the hunter have his privacy to purge himself of his turmoil. The darkness Castiel sensed earlier was growing, shadowing the bright light of the righteous man. Fingers curled into a fist within his coat pockets. His grace was itching to go in there and banish the shadow.

"I thought I told you not to be anywhere near Dean Winchester, Castiel."

Raising his head, Castiel kept his eyes low in respect to the business-clad angel before him. "He does not know I am here."

Zacheriah's eyebrows rose in amusement, "Oh. I thought you had a better understanding of the human language." He watched as Castiel's lips thinned slightly. "Your orders were to find solace for contemplation and rejuvenation in addition to not be anywhere near the Winchesters. Yet I find you standing outside their motel room."

"I am finding solace."

"No, you are getting more attached to this human." The slight narrowing of eyes proved the superior angel's point. Sighing, Zacheriah slid his left hand into his pocket while the other scratched absently at his head. "Castiel, this-"

Castiel interrupted, covering the howl of pain from Dean. "This presence within Dean. I know for certain it is Alastair. I know how and why. It's of importance that we purify Dean."

Zaceriah frowned, peering through the covered window. "Why?"

"Dean was his favorite. I saw how he looked at him in Hell," swallowing Castiel glanced into the deserted parking lot. "He wishes to continue to torture Dean just for sheer pleasure."

Sighing, the superior reached out with his own senses. A wave of screams and trembling sadism returned his call. Shifting, he took in Castiel's slumped form. "I will let this incident go, Castiel. You have brought a crucial point up and I will take care of it. Just do not let it happen again."

Bowing his head, Castiel kept his face blank. "Yes sir." With a flutter of wings, the smaller angel disappeared.

Straightening, Zacheriah rolled his eyes in annoyance. Castiel was an obedient soldier, not much of a fighter but truly gifted with the ways of the tongue. He knew that the younger angel would never fall, yet the mere fact that Castiel was starting to exhibit certain human traits was not good. Glaring at the door, Zacheriah knew the cause of the problem.

Dean Winchester, the righteous man who started and was the only one to end the Apocalypse. No sound emitted from the room. Taking a step forward, the flutter of wings filled the small motel room announcing Zacheriah's entrance. Before him was the hunter lying on his stomach on the bed, passed out with cheeks stained with tears. All was quiet

Bending down, Zacheriah soaked in the tormented figure. Reaching out, he placed a hand on the back of Dean's head. In a blink, he found himself standing in a small corridor. Noises were whispering behind a closed door. Stepping forward, the powerful angel peered through the round window. Inside the torture chamber, Dean was trembling, his bare chest covered in goosebumps. Shifting his bare feet, Dean's head was bowed down, fingers playing with some object. Before him, Alastair was chained to the star, a grin stretching ear to ear. "Just like the first one, make me scream."

Dean raised an arm, the exacto knife held loosely in his fingers. Taking small steps forward as if in a daze, Dean began to cut into Alastair's thin arm, red lines following in the metal's wake. Alastair hummed deeply reacting as if the pain was like biting into a piece of rich chocolate. The sound only seemed to spur Dean forward making him slice deeper and faster, creating an intricate design.

"That's my boy."

Leaning closer into the demon, Dean worked his way into the chest, a lost look on his face like a child concentrating on a drawing on a blank piece of paper.

"There is no going back."

Flinging the door open, Zacheriah marched into the room, shattering the illusion. "I beg to differ."

Surprise lit Alastair's faded blue eyes. The chains immediately vanished as the room melted into a blazing fire. Covering his eyes, Zacheriah watched as Alastiar swung to place himself between Dean and him. With a murmuring, Dean vanished as a slam of a door echoed loudly. With the fire consuming everything, the angel of the Lord lost track of where the demon was. This was an interesting turn of events. "I thought you were dead, Alastair."

"Not quite," replied a cold tone from behind. Turning, Zacheriah watched as the flames died down till all that was revealed was a rocky landscape with an old house off in the distant. Alastair stood calmly, yet his features were now more sunken in with his body seeming to flicker in black whispers. "Well, are we just going to stand here all day and bicker like an old married couple, Zacheriah."

"You know my name?"

"How could I forget a smug face like yours. I mean, you were there when I got Vladamir to spike all his victims. Then later on, you flung me back to Hell after a small visit in Poland in 1942. Oh and let's not forget about the huge battle when Lucifer was roaming around."

Zacheriah let a small grin brighten his features. "Aw yes, I remember you now. The demon that didn't want to fight. You just wanted to stay in Hell and continue your studies."

"Well what can I say, I love me job." Rolling his shoulders. Alastair locked his white eyes on steel gray. "But, this time, I'm not going to lose so easily."

"Good to know," shifting his footing, Zacheriah let his wings blaze to life behind his back. "Grand Inquisitor of Hell, I purify you from Dean's mind. This soul is ours now."

Alastair stood still, face etched in stone. His body was fading quickly now, vaporizing into black streaks from the light of the angel. "I doubt that." Flashes of the binding link he drew on Dean while the boy was pinned to the table during the hunt filled him with satisfaction. There was nothing like feeling accomplished about something when planning ahead. With a smug smile on his long face, the demon opened his arms, palms turned outwards. "There are some things even you angels cannot purify."

Closing his eyes, Alastair felt the inferno of Zacheriah's grace encompass him. He knew it would come down to this and not without a minute to spare. It was time. Despite wanting to share his throne, the white-eyed demon handed over the reigns with pride. In the back of his mind, he felt the locks he placed on the house shimmer with sorrow. Taking a step to the left, Alastair led the grace away from the Home protecting his most prized possession. Feeling Dean's razor on his skin, Alastair lashed out with his remaining strength striking at Zacheriah's heart.

Sighing, Zacheriah batted away the attack cleansing the demonic spirit with the touch of his hand. Reigning in his grace, the angel surveyed the ravages of Dean's mind. That was easy, then again the visage of Alastair was already weak. But from what, he did not know. It could not be from the damage upon the landscape. Turning, he fixed his gaze on the house spotting a small head peeking through the curtains. Smiling, he spread out his wings sensing turmoil coming from the home. So, this is what Alastair was protecting. On the door, ancient runes were painted on it. Angelic proof and no way for him to enter the house and purify the small creature. Zacheriah chuckled quietly, he had to give the demon credit. It seemed that he would have to change his plans concerning Dean, which if the child was what he thought it was, then it would be a leap forward.

Raising his arms, Zacheriah closed his eyes. Yet, before he could jump ahead, there was still a mission that needed to be completed. "Purify this unholy place." With those words said, light spread like spilt milk from the angels position. The grimmy window that was Dean was wiped clean of Alastair and Hell till nothing but a clean slate was all that remained.

Opening his eyes to the real world, the angel let a small smirk grace his face. Running a hand through the soft hair, Zacheriah closed his eyes and began to chant softly under his breath. Dean would need rest when carrying out this trial. Eyes opening he took in the flickering body. The process was almost complete and out of his hands. It would be all up to Dean Smith on how long he wanted to live a normal life before the yearning to do more was too much.

Smiling, Zacheriah lifted his hand just as the bathroom door opened. Shoulders dropping, Sam blinked wearily, dressed in only his pajamas. The call for sleep was finally pulling at him. Stepping through the door, he raised his head just in time to see Dean disappear as a tall figure stood straight.

"Dean!" Alert rang loudly pushing his body into defense mode. Pulling out the gun tucked in his bundle of clothes, Sam dropped the pile and aimed it straight at the being in a dark blue business suit. "Return Dean now."

The balding man chuckled deeply. "Sam Winchester, didn't expect you here. Then again, you are the wild card of the family."

Sam narrowed his eyes, tilting this gun a little to emphasis his point. "I'm not asking again, whoever you are. Dean. Back. Now."

Zacheriah shook his head playfully, "Sorry, kid. Dean is on a little mission to find himself." Extending his hand, Zacheriah mentally yanked the gun out Sam's hand tossing it where the knife laid. "Now, it's not nice to point a gun at an angel."

Mouth agape, Sam blinked shock on his face. "Angel?"

The man nodded, "Yes."

Shaking himself out of his stupor, Sam refocused his anger. He was getting sick of angels appearing anywhere they chose and manipulating them at will. Dean didn't even stand a chance. "I don't care, I want—"

"Fine, you want to be with your brother."

"Yes!"

"So be it." Watching the man wave his hand, Sam slumped unconscious before disappearing from the motel room.

Sighing exasperatedly, Zacheriah glanced around the room. He wanted to only involve just Dean, but it seemed Sam was dead set on getting his brother back. And that was not an option. It seemed that separating the two was an impossible task; even through death they sought ways to be reunited again. The strong brotherly love was awe-inspiring. And that was what made it dangerous for it was the Winchester's strength but also their greatest weakness.

Walking up to the table, Zacheriah stuffed the honey, gun and knife into the duffel bag. He had hoped that Sam would not arrive and the human could have taken care of their belongings and the car, but now it seemed that the duty fell upon him. That and now he had to fix Sam up with an apartment and job placement at _Sandover Bridge and Iron Company._

"How annoying," huffed Zacheriah. "I've got better things to do, thank you very much."

------------------------------------------------------

Peering out from behind the door, the small child took in the silent world beyond his house. No longer where there geysers of sulfur or screams of the damned. All was quiet. The infection Alastair had sliced were healed into becoming a field of grass. The gray sky that bleed was now blue with white clouds. Off the right, a tall tree had sprouted and hanging from one of its' massive branches was a tire swing. This wasn't right. Swallowing, the demon took a small step out onto the porch. His ears strained to pick up the self-loathing cries of Home that were turning into moans of pleasure. Yet nothing made a sound.

All was peaceful.

Eyes narrowing into slits, the demon reached out trying to feel for any of Hell's mark on the soul. Impatience began to boil within him. There was nothing. All their hard-workd with the binding was gone. It was clean. Purified. How this soul damaged soul was able to heal so fast was beyond anyone's skill. He should have been able to sense Home's thoughts by now. He was almost complete, heck he was even beginning to see through Dean's eyes when the man was torturing Alastair. Black hatred burned behind coal eyes. On the verge of drowning himself in his rage, the demon almost took the plunge out into the holy land when he caught a wiff of something foul.

The smell of burning filled his senses. It reminded him of lightening striking a tree but at the same time the warmth of a fire. Yet, underneath the crisp and clean smell after the rain made him sneeze. The angels had been here. They killed what remained of Alastair.

But most importantly, they took away his home. His freedom.

Frowning, the demon stepped back into the house, closing the door. He would not be a prisoner, not again, not when he was so close. Leaning against the door, he slammed his small fist hard into the surface. The resounding crack did nothing to break the barely restrained emotions flashing on his face. Squeezing his fingers tighter, blood began to trickle down his pale flesh. They would pay.

All of them.

-----------------------------

A/N: Think of this as not just a break in updates but a break in the story because afterwards, things are gonna get crazy. Thanks for reading this long chapter! Oh and Alastair's little argument at the beginning was inspired by the demon!Dean talk in "Dream little a little dream of me". Well, I'm off. See you guys in a month!!


	10. Chapter 10

Disclaimer: Don't own any of these guys.

A/N: Yes, you are not hallucinating. This is a new chapter. Finally back from one road trip, I have time to post this next chapter up before I go on my next trip. But don't worry that's just a week. So, I won't be updating this week, but this one is nice and long. So a little recap, a remanent of Alastair was driving Dean mad. Also, little demon!Dean rejoined Dean and Alastair was putting them back together. Dean was on the verge when Zacheriah came in and killed Alastair. Then the angel vanished Dean and Sam into their new 'lives' from "It's a Terrible Life" episode. So this picks up where that episode left off. Whooh, hope that makes sense.

**Chapter 10: On the Merry-go-round again**

"Alright Bobby, yeah well we're back now in one piece. Sorry to have worried you so-" Dean held the cell phone away from his ear as Bobby's voice boomed out a string of curses and exorcisms. Rolling his eyes, Dean fought back a grin, "Bobby. Go enjoy a beer or something."

Flipping the phone shut and tucking it into his worn brown jacket, his grin bloomed into a full smile. Shaking his head, Dean lifted the beer to his lips. Eyes closing, he relished in the burning as the amber liquid went down his throat. Three weeks without beer and going on a freakin diet made this meal epic. If he were anyone else, he would have thrown himself into a mental institution. Especially finding that he drove a Prius, Dean swore loudly in him mind. That Zachariah jerk had one sick humor. It was worse than Uriel's, God rest his backstabbing soul.

Reaching out, Dean picked up the double bacon cheeseburger dripping ketchup and barbeque sauce onto the white plate full of fries. Licking his lips, Dean closed his eyes in heavenly bliss as he took a large bite into the juicy, charbroiled burger.

"Mmmmm," Dean moaned deep in his throat. This had to be one the best burgers he had in forever. Swallowing, he eyed the heart attack on a bun, grinned darkly and took another large piece when a tall person slid into the booth across from him.

Sam pushed away his bangs in annoyance, scowling at the cob salad that lay untouched in front of him. Dressed back into his regular clothes, the younger brother reached out and took a long swig of his beer. "I can't believe it. I mean really, do they have no sense of privacy!"

Pushing the remnants of his bite to the side, Dean shrugged. Sam had been ranting about the incident since the moment they had rejoined in the parking lot outside of the company. Staring at each other, the brothers quickly jumped into the Impala that had miraculously appeared, and thankful undamaged otherwise Dean's wrath would have put God's to shame. Driving away from their residency of three weeks, Dean coughed lightly and explained the situation to Sam about Zacheriah and his whole twisted version of 'It's a Wonderful Life.' Since then the taller Winchester ranted and ranted and ranted…even when he came back from the bathroom. Between the gasps of air, Dean noticed that Sam looked a bit sick, must be a whiplash from last night's hunt. He had seen the remains of the security guard. Poor guy.

"What else is new?" muffled Dean through his food, "I gave up on personal space months ago. They ain't gonna change."

Sam shot Dean a dark look, "Dude, chew your food. You're not a freakin cow."

Dean grinned, humor shining in his eyes. Swallowing, he couldn't resist. "Mooo." Taking another drink, he wiped his mouth on his napkin. "But come on; tell me it wasn't that bad."

"Bad?" stressed Sam, his dark eyes widening in irritation, "I was living in a crap apartment between two noisy neighborhoods, worked in the Tech support in a cubical with never-ending hours and the pay was crap. I'm surprised I didn't lose my mind earlier." Stabbing his fork into his salad, Sam pointed it dangerously at Dean, "So sorry Mr. I got a great apartment and on the cooperate level office with great scenery and pay grade if I'm a bit cranky."

Dean shook his head, popping a French fry into his mouth. "Well I can't help it if the angels like me more. It must be my charming personality or maybe it's because I'm so awesome."

The light humor flooding off of Dean made Sam stare at his brother in disbelief. This wasn't the same broken Dean of three weeks ago. It was if somehow they had traveled back in time before the Deal and his other brother was back to being himself. Sighing, Sam leaned back, "I just don't get it. I mean this whole incident didn't do squat for me. Zacheriah seemed dead set on setting up an example for you and I was just a pawn, someone to help in hunting the ghost."

Sliding the fork into his mouth, Sam munched in brooding silence. Dean's eyes fell onto the table, finishing his burger in peace. It was a valid point. All the straight-in-your-face, non-sugar coated truth had been only for Dean's ears, to snap him out of his depression and get his game face on. And it had worked…just not the way the angel wanted it to.

Eyes raising themselves, Dean watched Sam eat methodically, his lower lip sticking out slightly in a pout. Smiling softly, Dean saw Sammy before him, pouting with those irresistible puppy-dog eyes about not getting cereal for dinner.

Breaking the silence, Dean leaned forward, lowering his voice. "Look, I got a theory."

Sam raised his own eyes, locking them with Dean's. "Besides the fact that I interrupted Zacheriah when he was done blinking you out of existence."

"Yeah well, small technicality." Tilting his head slightly, Dean pushed forward. "Listen, I don't know about you but I feel great. I mean for the first time since I came back I was able to get a full night's sleep. Not to mention all the guilt and pressure was gone. I was able to finally take in a deep breath of fresh air and enjoy life for once. No hunting, no nothing, just a taste of the normal."

Pausing Dean took in Sam's tightening face as his brother processed the confession. "And then when you came and we started hunting the ghost. It felt like the old days, man. You, me and some creature that needed to be salted and burned. The adrenaline rush, the joy of saving lives and working as a team again…"

Sam's eyes widened slightly.

"Sam, come on, don't tell that you didn't feel like we were back to being brothers. No secrets, no nothing. We were in-sync, did what Dad taught us without any angelic help or demon blood. We could read each other…" Trust each other, Dean wanted to add, but kept silent. "Zac showed me that yeah hunting is in my blood, but dude, he showed us what we really are: a team…brothers, no matter what happens to us."

Leaning back, Dean let those words settle in the air. Resuming eating his burger, Sam across from him began picking at his food. The dark haired hunter pondered over Dean's revelations. Dean was right. Despite being in a crappy job, he felt a bit glad for normalcy. It reminded him of when he was in college with Jess. And the hunt, it was refreshing. To go back and remember what it was like to kill something supernatural without the demon blood coursing through his veins. To feel human…

The rush was intoxicating and to fall in perfect timing with Dean was an ache he wished for. Halting in his pickings, Sam glanced up at his older brother. Dean was almost glowing with that cocky behavior of his as he practically inhaled the remaining fries. The middle-aged waitress with strands of black hair falling out her bun approached the table.

"Anything else?"

Dean flashed his most charming smirk, eyes gleaming with joy. "Got any pie?"

The waitress couldn't help but smile, making her look younger by tugging away her weariness. "Apple, blueberry, strawberry rhubarb and a special one huckleberry."

Dean bit the corner of his lips, "How about you chose?"

The lady let out a small laugh, "Huckleberry, then." Writing it down on the pad, she turned when Dean remarked, "You're a lifesaver sweetheart."

"Keep that up and you might end up going home with something special."

Hearing the squeaky shoes walk away, Sam kept his gaze on Dean's beaming face burning the image forever in his mind. If this was what Zacheriahintended, then maybe he could forgive the dick. The warmth of seeing his brother happy again faltered slightly as a dark thought crept across his mind. "_The angels once again trumped you, Sammy. They did what you couldn't: first by saving your brother and now piecing him back together…better kick up your game, boy_."

Sam shook his head as Dean flicked his gaze back.

"Dude I know I'm awesome, but stop staring."

Bursting out into laughter, Sam couldn't fight back the smile. "I swear Dean, you're hopeless."

Dean laughed right beside his brother. Later on that night, Dean left the diner with a box of a whole huckleberry pie, which was now becoming an addiction if he ever saw one. Finding a motel didn't take too long. Upon entering the room, Sam called the shower first.

"Don't trust you taking up all the hot water. If anything, that was one perk living alone."

Dean threw a pillow at the retreating back, "You're asking it for, Sammy."

Plopping down, Dean took in a deep breath. It might not have the clean smell of Pinesolof his old apartment but the muskiness, a scratchy comforter and a worn-out mattress embraced him with familiarity. This was his home. Relishing in the feeling, he began to doze off, pleasantly full with a burger, beer and pie. It was a perfect ending despite it beginning with a crappy awakening call. He was a bit peeved being played once again by an angel. Eyes sliding shut, an arctic wind ticked the back of his neck.

Rolling onto his side, Dean quickly turned the TV on grateful that some stupid cartoon show was on pushing away the horrors. He wasn't ready to face them yet. "Please", he whispered quietly, "let me enjoy this a bit longer."

The splash of something pulled Dean's attention away from the box. A flush of the toilet soon followed. Concern seeped into his voice as he remembered the slight pale complexion his brother had gained throughout the day. "Sam, you ok?"

"I'm fine. Must have been a bad cob salad," joked Sam from within. Standing in front of the mirror, he wiped his mouth clean. Try as he might he couldn't keep his eyes from gazing down at the cracked knuckle that bled slightly.

Blood.

Stomach turning, Sam felt a wave of nausea roll through him chased by a pull. Panting, his eyes fell into a daze. Three weeks since… A memory of drinking Ruby's intoxicating blood filled his mind. Three weeks since that rush… Breathing deeply, he pushed away the yearning. Dressing in clean cloths, he forced a strong face and stepped out into the room. "All yours."

Dean walked by, eying Sam with worry. "You sure?"

"Yeah, I'll be good in the morning."

The green-eyed hunter nodded and stepped into the bathroom, closing the door behind him. Staggering, Sam collapsed onto the bed his hands shaking slightly. He hadn't been this bad back at the restaurant. It was just started out as a stomachache, but seeing his blood spurn the withdrawal onwards.

Glancing around the room, he felt the walls slowly begin to lean inwards. Standing up, he slid on his shoes, grabbed his cell, jacket and keys. "Dean."

"Yeah?" yelled his brother's gruff voice.

"I'm going to the store to pick up supplies, want anything?"

"Do you even have to ask?"

Sam chuckled lightly, "Nope. Be back in a bit."

"Ok!"

Stepping out, Sam closed the door and made his way to the Impala. The cold fresh air pushed away the yearnings. He could handle this. If he had made it through three weeks without blood, then he could handle one night.

Revving up the car, he drove onto the small road making his way to the store. The slight vibration pulled his attention away from the pavement. Pulling out his cell, he clicked it on. "Sam."

"You idiot!"

Sam winced, "Hey Ruby."

"Don't 'Hey Ruby' me, Sam. Where were you? I was freakin worried something happened to you. Nothing but dead silence for three weeks!"

"It's ok, I was on some…angel business."

Ruby's annoyance and fear at the mention of the winged creatures echoed through the phone. "Oh wonderful. Just listen up, we don't have much time."

Sam's eyes narrowed, "Why?"

"Lilith is on the move."

The mention of the demonic girl that had sent his brother to Hell flipped a switch within Sam. Tucked away were the memories and joys of the day. All he could think of was burning that witch out of existence. His voice lowered into a growl. "Where?"

"Sam, you're not ready-"

"I'll be ready, I just need it Ruby."

Ruby sighed, "Where you at?"

"Near the outskirts of Danville, Illinois."

He heard a laugh, "Funny, I'm about two hours away."

How Ruby was so close didn't go by unnoticed. It had to be more than coincidence. Ruby had a way of showing up at the right time and it was both unnerving but welcoming to the younger Winchester.

"I'll meet you at the first rest stop outside of town and give you what you want," purred Ruby.

Sam closed his eyes, soaking her dark voice. Already he could feel the blood trickling down his throat bathing him in smoldering heat. The urge tugged deeper in his stomach. Peeking through narrowed eyes, he spotted the convenience store up ahead. He could be a good brother, relish in playful banter and turn into that parking lot. Make the happiness last one more night before reality set in.

Or…

Dean's grinning face as he flirted in the diner flashed in his mind. Lips thinning, Sam pressed harder on the pedal. He would do anything to keep Dean like that, just happy and no longer haunted. "I'll be there in fifteen."

Shutting off his phone, Sam zoomed by the store with thoughts no longer on oil, beer and chips. All that was before him was breaking Lilith's neck with the promises of drinking warm blood and Dean smirking at him.

------

Stepping out of the bathroom, Dean took in the empty room. Ruffling the towel over his hair, Dean couldn't help but note that he needed a haircut soon. Draping the towel over his bare shoulders, Dean walked over the plain wooden nightstand where his duffle bag laid. Doing a little shake to adjust his pants, Dean pulled out a new black tee-shirt.

"Hello, Dean."

Spinning, Dean's back slammed into the nightstand heart hammering against his ribcage. Standing in the shadow of the corner, the orange light streaming onto his face stood his blue-eyed angel. Those eyes were transfixed with peering out of the small opening which he created with his fingers. Eyes sliding over to Dean's flushed face; Castiel lowered his hand closing the small hole. "I am glad to see you are healthy once more."

Growling, Dean threw the towel straight into Castiel's face. Startled, the angel took a step backward catching the white towel while Dean grabbed a shirt from the duffle bag. Sliding it on, he glared darkly over his shoulder. "What the hell, Cas? You know, it's rude to walk in on someone, especially if one came from the shower."

"I am sorry." Folding the towel neatly, Castiel set the article on the bed. "But I am getting tired of being referred to Hell all the time." Stepping away from the window, he walked up to Dean fixing the hunter with an inquisitive stare. Soaking in green, the angel sought for the disease of Alastair but all that greeted him was calm seas.

A soft cough pulled his attention back to the owner. Blinking Castiel watched Dean squeeze by him to go to the fridge. "I met your boss."

Embarrassment brightened the pale face. The angel remembered the almost smug look on Zacheriah's face when he had given the order to resuming contact with the Winchesters. "I am sorry for anything he might have said. Zacheriah can be a bit…abrupt."

Opening the fridge, Dean scowled that there was no beer present. Sam must be still on the supply run. Glancing at the clock, he took the digital numbers not liking that it was well over half-an-hour. What was his brother doing? "That's putting it lightly." Peering over his shoulder, he was greeted by the infamous tilting of the head, blue eyes shining in curiosity. "Right." Slamming the fridge closed, he turned his full attention to the plastic bag containing the pie. "Wanna eat? Got some homemade huckleberry pie?"

"I am fine Dean."

Rolling his eyes at how hard it was to entertain an angel, Dean grabbed his coat and opened the door. "A walk then?" There was no room for rebuke. Big brother anxiety tugged at his soul and the closed quarters were not doing him any good.

Nodding, Castiel followed Dean outside taking in the deep breath that the hunter took in. This peaceful nature around the hunter almost seemed surreal. For every moment he knew the mortal, Castiel only felt suffering and pain. So sensing such a bright feeling radiating off of the man was out of place. "Dean."

Slowing his steps as they made their way towards a small park, Dean glanced swiftly to his companion. "Hm?"

Castiel stopped, tucking his hands into the coat pockets. Eying the gravel ground, he sought for the right words. "While you and Sam were living…normal lives, I came to a conclusion."

Turning to face the angel, Dean lifted his eyebrow. "I hope it wasn't too straining. Wouldn't want to worry an angel to death now?"

Shooting the hunter a scowled look, Castiel bit back a sigh. "I didn't tell the whole truth concerning Alastair's death."

The world around them halted, temperature dropping to arctic levels. Heart skipping a beat, Dean licked his dry lips. Coughing, he sputtered out, "W-what?" Did he hear right? Maybe Castiel had lost touch with reality while he was doing some Jedi-like meditation and got his words screwed up.

Turning to face the flickering lamp post, Castiel's eyes darkened as his voice drifted even softer. "I did not kill Alastair, Dean."

Dean's mind froze at the confession. Numbness began to bleed through the warmth that had enveloped him for weeks. Shock moved his lips forward, "T-then w-who?"

Dropping his head, the raven-haired angel seemed to shrink before Dean's very eyes. "Sam."

The single named could be barely heard but in Dean's mind it was as if a shotgun had been fired right next to him. His head buzzed as images of Sam killing Alastair burst to life. "H-how?"

"I don't know for sure, but-" Castiel pursed his lips slightly, "Sam was ripping Alastair apart, burning him out of existence."

Collapsing on a nearby bench, Dean ran shaking hands through his hair. "His powers?"

"Yes," joining the elder Winchester, Castiel gazed onto the secluded street. "I don't know how or when but his powers are growing stronger." Narrowing his eyes, a foreboding tone took over. "Your brother is falling fast, Dean and if he doesn't stop I don't think he can be saved."

The crushing weight of saving his brother and world sank back on his shoulders. Leaning back, Dean stared at his rough hands letting his weariness slid back into place. Now everything was back to normal. "Why didn't you tell me before?"

"It was not my place."

"Your place?" snarled Dean, glaring daggers at the angel, "What do you mean, not 'your place'?"

Castiel met the heated glare with ice-cold detachment. "Because it was Sam's place to tell you what he has done. You are brothers and I am not about to destroy that, for it what makes you two strong."

"But why now?"

"Because I realized Sam will never tell you. That it was much my mistake in letting Sam use his powers in not destroying Alastair when I had the chance."

The guilt-ridden statement hung in the air between the two men as they returned their stares back to the street. Castiel clasped his hands together, agitated that the conversation had not gone the way he wanted it to. It was all these new emotions running through his veins that were making him irresponsible. How could humans endure this conflict on a regular basis?

Dean's rough voice blew softly on the wind, "Don't torture yourself, Cas. You did the best you could."

"You should heed your own advice," whispered back the angel.

Green eyes widened playfully at the other man hiding the pain caused by the remark. With a soft grin, he continued forward. "So what do we do now?"

"What you are already doing, try and save your brother."

"Well, it sounds like I'm doing a lousy job."

"No you are not. If any other angel was assigned to you, Sam would already be dead. But I know that he did such a deed to save you. His intentions are just, but his method is wrong."

Head spinning at the revelation, Dean shook his head. "Great the one thing I didn't want him to pick up from me he did."

Castiel shot Dean a perplexed look which Dean gazed back helplessly. "The whole sacrificing oneself gig, must run in the Winchester blood huh." A weak laugh broke through the hunter's lips as he remembered his mother sealing the deal to save his father's life.

"It is what makes you strong as well," pressed the angel, not catching the lame jab.

"Cas."

"Yes."

"Shut up."

A ghost of a smile passed over the angel's lips. "You're welcome." He finally understood the enigma of Dean Winchester. When the hunter would shot back a retort it meant that he finally got through the thick stubborn nature. In a flutter of wings, the angel left Dean alone on the bench.

With only his thoughts, Dean pushed himself off the bench and trudged back to the motel. With each step he lost more and more of himself into his mind. The soft scrap of rubber against pavement morphed into the rustle of grass. Stepping up pristine steps, Dean stopped in front of a blue door. Disappointment darkened the sky above. Sam, his little Sammy, had killed Alastair. His brother accomplished a feat that no other demon or Dean could ever dream off. Sam was becoming a creature that baffled his mind and it scared him more than death and Hell itself.

"_It is what makes you strong_." Castiel's words drifted by him.

"But not strong enough," muttered Dean. Reaching out he opened the door finding himself in a long hallway with a wooded forest for wallpaper. Glancing down, he took in the ink symbols that were permanent on his skin. If Sam wanted to go all demon, then he would just have to show him what it would turn him into. Despite being the brains of the outfit, Sam could be clueless about things that were staring him right in the face.

Walking down, wooden floor boards creaked under his boots. Spotting a slightly opened door, he pushed it open and stepped inside the living room. A small fire roared in the massive stone fireplace while the large bay windows overlooked green pastures. But the one thing he was focused on was the small figure sitting on a desk, bare feet swinging back and forth thumping softly against the drawers.

The small dirty-blond head tilted downwards till the chin touched the torn blue-shirt. Black eyes glared hatefully from behind the freckled cheeks. "I hate you."

Dean stood quietly in the room, letting the pure demonic rage wash over him.

"You left and made that angel destroy what we could have become."

Hopping off the desk, the demon marched over to his home taking in the expressionless face of his older self. "If you think Hell was bad-"

The swift slamming of the door silenced the child demon. Lowering his foot, Dean raised his hand and with a twitch of two fingers locked the door. Knowing he had the demon's full attention, Dean rolled up his sleeves revealing the intricate design painted on his skin.

"We need to talk, kiddo."

Black eyes soaked in the symbols, disbelief that they had remained intact freezing his rage. Slowly, his gaze moved upwards taking in the fading green eyes to gray staring back at him. "What do you say?" virbrated the gruff voice.

Tilting his head slightly, the demon frowned washing away the innocence of his appearance. "I still hate you."

"Me too."

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A/N: What did you really think I would pass up an oppertunity to make Dean a demon? Tsk. Well, see you guys sometime next week! Hopefully, *crossing fingers*


	11. Chapter 11

A/N: Hi everyone! First off, thanks for all the awesome reviews :) They're making my summer. And finally, no more road trips in the foreseeable future so that means I can update weekly now. Yay!!! :) Well, I can't think of anything else to post in this author's note so I bring you the next chapter.

**On the road again**

Sliding into the chair next to the window, Dean pushed the curtain aside slightly. He would wait here till Sam cam back, and then they were going to have a little heart to heart talk. The ticking of the clock signaled the dropping of each precious minute while the quiet breathing of its solo occupant slowed to the point where it seemed as if the man wasn't breathing at all. A deathly foreboding aura filled the room.

The hurricane was inverted. The calm core with the storm raging all around twisted itself into a dark mirror image. Outside the midnight blue night with sparkling starts brought tranquility. Yet inside, the core raged on, tainted memories swirling like a vortex over the single figure slumped in false weariness. Staring endlessly through the window, black eyes pictured tattered souls hanging from the trees as fire and ash filled the air. The stench of rot permeated everywhere. The taste of blood filled his mouth. Screams upon screams pounded against his ears. Fingers only felt ripped flesh or unyielding metal. Home was here to stay.

Waiting quietly, dressed in his regular clothes Dean sat in the pitch-black motel room. All emotions were wiped clean off his face. He didn't care anymore. Apathy was his middle name now. Sammy, his little brother and reason to keep living was turning into a demon with a drive that rivaled their fathers. It's was a shame, really it was. The kid had broken his dying wish. Yet, all Dean could think of was beating the pulp of out him and tie him to the ceiling fan and let him hang there for a couple of hours. He was tired of talking and reasoning to Sam and where did it lead him? Nowhere.

Rolling his neck, a soft crack resonated around him. Glancing down, he stared at clean youthful hands that itched and thrummed with blood. Raising his hand, Dean flicked his lighter and held it up against his fingers staring with utter fascination at the red glow outlining black veins.

"_Reality is just too concrete up here_," hummed the voice of a dead demon with clarity amongst the screams and begging.

A dark smile darkened the face of the hunter. Tilting his head, he ran his fingers through the flame. The golden light danced across his clouded black eyes hints of forest green flickering with coldness. The low rumbling of an engine pulled his eyes back to the window just in time to watch a slim black car drive slowly past the window. Leaning away, Dean flicked his lighter off, sliding it back into his pocket before propping his elbow on the table interlacing his fingers. Hell permeated his senses yet the shimmering anger towards his brother took center stage.

The door creaked open. Squeezing inside, Sam Winchester silently closed the door behind. He had not planned on being gone for so long but when Ruby had sliced herself, he couldn't stop himself. Buzzing filled his entire frame like a swarm of bees. Kicking off his shoes, he glanced at the clock: 2:57 in the morning. Wide-awake from the fix, Sam snuck over to his duffle bag abandoning sleep all together. He would grab his laptop; hang out in the bathroom and research into the hunt Ruby had suggested.

A small town in the Upper Peninsula of Michigan had some strange incidents occurring with electrical storms. According to the Intel Ruby gathered, Lilith might be involved up there. Reaching in, he picked up his bag and began to slide the laptop out when a click resounded spilling light into the room.

Glancing up, eyes wide, Sam took in Dean's form sitting next to the table. Legs stretched out, green eyes were drowned in disappointment. A flat voice whispered out, "Tell me at least you got our supplies."

Sam swallowed, straightening his back. "Sorry, forgot about it. Something popped up. Bobby called and gave us a hunt." The lie spilled forth with ease, no physical twitches to give away his cover.

Dean frowned, eyes narrowing. "I'm not stupid, Sam. You were with Ruby. You just couldn't wait to pounce her again, could you?"

The words rumbled deeply from Dean's mouth. Sam felt his mouth twitch as he leaned slightly in agitation. "I'm not a kid anymore, Dean."

"Then act like an adult and tell the truth. If you're going to see Ruby just say so." Pushing himself away from the chair, all it took was two measured steps till he was in Sam's face. "I thought you were kidnapped or worse."

Sam's fingers curled into fists at his side, "I can take care of myself."

"You're number one of the demon's hit list, Sam, so forgive me if I seem a bit upset that you were gone for almost four hours!" Shifting, Dean pushed past Sam, knocking the taller boy onto the bed. He needed a drink. A childlike voice was screaming for blood blinding his vision with red. Of everything he had sacrificed for his brother, Sam was still a smartass. Reaching the fridge, he grabbed a clean glass and filled it with bitter cold water. Tilting his head back, he let the searing liquid fill his core.

Behind, Sam sat quietly, fingers curling into the sheets to hold back the angry words that wanted to spill forth. The high he was on pushed for some physical reaction, a yearning to be released. Glancing at the seething form, the urge died down a bit as he tried to think where they went wrong. Dean was all fine and dandy when he left, never been happier. Then again, Sam hadn't run off without a words notice, shutting off his cell-phone in the meantime. There had been ten missed calls all from Dean as he drove back to the motel.

Lowering the glass, Dean inhaled deeply letting out his frustration in one deep exhale. Screams echoed in the background but his mind no longer screamed for blood. Shoulders sagging, Dean took in the counter watching as shapes morphed out of black smoke. Various shapes and sizes of nails and screws lined up perfectly from smallest to largest. Blood ran off the counter like water as the knives, hammers and screwdrivers glistened like new. He always cleaned up after a torture and took great care in his tools.

Eyes sliding into slits, Dean mulled over how to carry on without turning this confrontation into a bloodbath. Pushing away the urge to torture, the images faded back into nothingness. Frustration dwindled as the brother in him lost the will to be mad. He couldn't remain enraged at Sam and expect to save him at the same time. He had lied countless times to Sam in the past, so why was it a surprise that Sam was doing the same thing. Then again, Sam was dabbing into his demonic powers like a child playing with a bomb. One false press of the button and boom there would be no Sammy or Dean for that matter.

"_Now careful, Dean, go nice and slow," hummed Alastair's voice, "Don't rush into things. That's the problem you know with your generation always 'give it to me now'. But some things, like wine for instance, need time." A chuckle from his master froze Dean as he practiced the etiquette of carving. Taking in the young demon's scared look like he had done something wrong, Alastair shook his head, "Wine and Blood, Dean. Wine and Blood."_

A reminiscent smirk graced Dean's face as he whispered, "Wine and blood_._" Turning, he leaned against the counter, hands curling around the edge. Mustering a surrendered aura, Dean raised his voice into a dejected tone. "What's the hunt Ruby found for us?"

Sam's hazel eyes bounced up at him, surprise and relief brightening his features. Dean was going to hear him out for once? Instead of the vacuum of despair, the warmth of gratitude furthered his adrenaline rush. "There is some major demon activity up in the Upper Peninsula of Michigan."

Dean raised his eyebrow. "And?"

"And these demons are causing problems Dean," stressed Sam. "People are dying." Pushing for the 'innocent citizens' card, Sam held his true information close to his chest concerning Lilith. With the amount of blood he drank, in theory, Sam was ready to face the white-eyed demon and end this ridiculous war.

Dean let his gaze drop to the laptop. "I'll make us some coffee while you start researching."

Sam grabbed his computer, lifting the screen. He eyed Dean worriedly as his older brother turned around to grab two mugs. "Shouldn't you sleep?"

"Nah," Sending a smirk over his shoulder, Dean noticed for the first time ever since the whole ordeal with Alastair that he felt like his old self. Covering the battle-weary soul, that cocky, grinning loud-mouth hunter was back in full swing. And boy did it feel great to be back. "You know I can't sleep well when I'm itching to kill me some sons-of-a-bitches."

The younger Winchester grinned back, focusing back on the screen. "True."

The smell of coffee brewing filtered through the small room surrounding Sam who sat perched on his bed clicking away as Dean prepared their weapons for the fight.

-_Next day_-

"Thanks Bobby." Snapping his phone closed, Dean drummed his fingers against the steering wheel. The impala was parked in front of a small gas station in the rural area of Wisconsin. Around them a dense forest pocketed with ponds created a sense of utter isolation. Glancing at his clock, Dean calculated the math and figured about two more hours and they would enter be up around some town called Iron River.

Sam was inside trying to gather any useful local news tidbits when Dean had called Bobby. He had hoped the old man would have another hunt, but all the elder hunter did was condemn Dean to this hunt. Bobby's confirmation poured more salt to the gaping wound. Every sense was ringing like a fire alarm. Something was off and even in Hell; Dean learned to trust his instincts. Alastair scared him to death but as his student, Dean learned how to read the man. Other demons he saw only himself reflected off of their eyes. Ruby, she just ticked him off but he would be patient with her enjoying those times when she was pressed into situations she did not want to be in. But there was one demon that screamed wrong: Lilith.

A shiver ran down his spine as he felt the ghost of her body press against his. Her child-like laughter rang with cruelty in his head. Her white-eyes glowed with sick joy during her single visit in the Pit during his third year off the rack.

_Dean finished carving into some unknown soul, making the soul scream to be let off the rack in less than five slices. Behind him, Alastair was smiling razor teeth while Lilith bounded up to him. Wrapping her arms around him, she kissed him on his bloodstained cheek._

"_You're having fun here, aren't you__?" quipped the powerful demon in her playful voice._

_Dean turned in her embrace to lock his blackening eyes upon white. A twisted smile darkened his features as he nodded. Lilith's laughter vibrated through the chamber. Hugging him once more, she leaned forward till their lips almost touched. Purring, her voice lost its exuberance revealing the patient, ominous true character of this ancient white-eyed demon. "__I love you, Dean. I owe you everything__."_

Tilting his head back, Dean reached out to crank up the AC/DC tape. Blaring 'TNT', he tried to drown out Lilith's words. She had known and told him thank you. And all he did after she left was to look at Alastair waiting for his approval. The chief executioner merely handed him one of his prized knives before leaving the rising demon alone with his next victim.

He was such a fool. Lost in the desire to please the man he considered a father, Dean did not question Lilith's hint at him breaking the first seal. He didn't even remember it till now. Now the only big missing part was his little resurrection.

The groaning and slamming of the passenger door pulled Dean from his memories. Glancing at Sam, he eyed the other hunter. "Well?"

Sam frowned grimily, "Nothing. The only odd thing was a bunch of traffic heading up that way. But otherwise it's all quiet up there. Except that there was some strange weather up there for awhile."

Pulling back onto the highway, Dean shifted uncomfortably.

Shooting a dark look, Sam spoke in a sarcastic tone. "What?"

"It's just that every time there's strange weather we get either an overload of demons or just one powerful one."

Sam glanced out the window, keeping the fear out of his tone. "I place my bets on the team of demons. This total isolation thing is not part of Lilith's MO."

Shaking his head, Dean sighed. "I guess." "_Just please, no Lilith. I can't face her yet_." His cover would be blown; Sam would try to exorcism him, Lilith would drag him back to Hell and Cas would do nothing about it. Then his little deal with himself would be for naught. If he did run into her, it would Alastair all over again. The guilt and shame would make him snap all from a false smile of innocence from a little girl's face. Then it would be back to square one and being picked on by other demons.

Tightening his grip on the wheel, Dean pressed a little harder on the gas pedal. Sam said nothing causing Dean to spare a glance to the passenger seat. The younger Winchester gazed out of the window. His young features were hardened into stone. The game face was on. Shifting back on the road, Dean pondered over how far Sam had fallen. Was it as far as him? Did he walk into willingly or blindly? And further more, if Lilith was there, would Sam try to do the same thing he did to Alastair?

Dark rage bubbled in him. A flash of the dying sunlight caught his attention. Gazing into the side mirror, Dean soaked in the bleeding black eyes. Swallowing, Dean quickly cranked down his window letting the breeze cool him down while washing away the blackness. He had no clue how far Sam's powers were and if they involved sensing other demons. But so far it seemed like Sam couldn't sense him.

Letting the wind whip all around him, Dean braced himself for the fight. For all he knew, he might recognize a few of the demons either by torturing them or bypassing them in Hell. With no Alastair to protect him, things could go south in a second. Then again, Dean grinned slightly, he was different now. No longer was he the broken, post-traumatic stress hunter nor was he the powerless little demon yearning for home. Nope. He was back to being one-hundred percent, Hell bound, born and hardened cocky Dean Winchester.

"_You have not disappointed me_." Alastiar's praise sharpened his mind into clarity like a taunt wire.

"Something on your mind?" Sam's voice pulled the grin wider.

"Thinking about all those sons-of-bitches I'm gonna be killing." When Sam didn't reply, Dean shot him a light-hearted glance. "Just like the old days."

Sam let out a short chuckle, a smile brightening his own face. "Yeah except no crazy antics like we pulled back at the police station."

Scoffing, Dean put on an innocent expression, "Crazy, psh, Sam that was pure genius. You're just still upset cause you didn't come up with it college boy."

The roar of the Impala speeding up drowned out Sam's weak comeback. Kicking up dirt, the sleek black car spun off down the desolate back-country highway the last rays of the sun licking like Hell's fire at its' tires.

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A/N: Oh man, writing demon!Dean is just too much fun and things are just getting started. Well, stay tuned for next week's chapter! Take care.


	12. Chapter 12

Disclaimer: If I owned Supernatural I so would have had more Dean hell moments and Alastair would still be alive.

A/N: Yes, it feels good to be back on schedule. And it does help that I don't have TV at the moment because a storm knocked the satellite or some technicality. All the more reason to write and rewatch all the seasons :) But I doubt you want to hear my ramblings, so here's the next chappie.

**An old familiar face**

Cutting off the engine, two hunters stepped out of their protective black shell onto the worn-torn landscape. It was a strange entrance driving into Iron River. One moment everything was the same tree-laced environment till they rounded the corner and faced something that seemed out of the Terminator movies. The small mining town was barely clinging on, prospering the most during hunting seasons. Brick buildings were ghosts of their former selves as ripped flyers danced across the black tarmac.

Parking the Impala behind a decaying house, white paint flakes fluttering down like snow, Dean and Sam grabbed their respective guns and quietly walked down the street. All around them, debris from buildings piled across the uneven cement. Stopping at the first intersection, Dean took in the scene with skilled eyes. A few cars parked in alleys were smashed beyond recognition. Flickering upwards, green eyes soaked in the cracked buildings with massive holes. The smaller mining houses below were shattered with the remains of the corner of one building lying on top. With grayish clouds gathering above them, Dean felt the hairs on his arms stand on end in the cold breeze.

"Dean, something's wrong," whispered Sam's voice, as if he was afraid that if he spoke louder more of the town would collapse around them.

"Wow Mr. State-the-obvious."

Sam shot a dark glare at his brother warning him that now was not the time for quips. "Where are the people?"

Shrugging his shoulders, Dean moved forward. "They probably all fled."

"Since when have we've gone to a town where people actually ran away when something supernatural happens?"

Dean frowned over his shoulder, "Now you develop a sense of humor? Guess it's never too late."

The younger Winchester shook his head and followed his brother, keeping an eye out on dark corners and creaking windows. Engrossed in covering Dean's back, he almost bumped into the shorter man. Biting back a remark, Sam noticed that Dean was focused off to his left. Turning, he followed his brother's gaze to take in a massive structure that was a slightly off the main road.

Looming in the backdrop was a three-story brick building with two wings jutting out framing a thin patch of dead grass in the middle. A barren oak tree rattled its thin limbs against boarded windows. Some of the boards were hanging on hinges, containing tiny holes apparent of late night shooting games. Despite the eerie aura, the building felt as if children should be running up and down the small set of stone steps with the massive oak double doors welcoming all those inside.

Hovering over his brother's shoulder, Sam cocked his eye. "That seems like a good place to start."

A loud crack resounded in the air. Hands tightening their hold on the shotgun, Dean scanned the sky. "It's the epicenter for certain." A point of his finger and Sam took in the fallen houses around the school. It was in almost in a circular shape.

"Good enough for me." Long legs' moving forward, Sam got a decent head start on his brother but was in earshot to hear the earthly growl. Throwing a smirk, he saw Dean glare darkly at him as the sun disappeared behind the darkening clouds.

Taking in a deep breath, Dean pushed away his agitation and caught up with Sam as another large crack resonated in the air. The deafening sound jerked his back straight as the older hunter spun around just in time to see a small gas-station's roof collapse in on itself. "Something's so not right."

Cocking his shotgun, Dean settled to the right of Sam inside the entrance hallway. Clicking on a flashlight, he swept the area pausing at the wide staircase and the once hall-of-fame wall. Upon the wide surface thousands of symbols were etched into the faded blue concrete. "Do some of those seem familiar?"

Sam nodded, "Yep. That one," Sam pointed to an intricate star design. "Alastair painted on the morgue to prevent the angels from coming in."

"But why can we see it?"

"Got me," inching up the wall, Sam lightly traced the symbol, "But it's embedded deep. Either the demons used some serious acid or the mojo is just so strong that it's appearing on the physical realm."

Not hearing a snide remark, Sam glanced over to take in Dean's bewildered look. "What?"

Shaking his head, Dean exhaled loudly. "Nothin it just creeps me out how much you know, especially concerning demons."

Resentment swelled in him, "Hey the first rule in war is to know your enemy, Dean."

"Oh, so is that how you justify sleeping with Ruby."

An exasperated groan passed through Sam's lips. "Really, do you have to tie everything back to that?"

Dean paused, looking upwards then grinned. "Yep, and you're taking the top two floors."

Blinking Sam turned as Dean moved back to the ground level. "Shouldn't we stay together?"

Halting, Dean eyed up to his brother standing over him on the stairs. With the symbols behind him and the gray light flittering through from up above, Dean didn't see his brother there but a rising leader waiting to command his army. Fighting back a disgusted frown at being belittled and the fear of what Sam was becoming, Dean rechecked his weapon. "No. The demons are long gone otherwise they would have pounced us by now. So, it's all about trying to figure out what happened here and finding any survivors."

Anger flashed across Sam's face. "If Lilith's not here, then we should leave or the trail-"

"Sam." The stern tone silenced the younger Winchester. "We're looking for survivors." Not feeling like lunging into an argument, Dean marched into one of the hallways leaving his brother on the staircase.

------

Swiping away a cobweb, Dean lowered his rifle as he stepped into a wide area in the basement. The main floor was clean leaving the only option for the basement. Pushing away extras desks and chalkboards, the hunter moved quietly through the room. Halting in the only open clear space, he gazed downwards. Upon the gray cement floor, a large dark-red symbol was painted onto the floor. Stepping up the edge, he felt a small electric bolt sprint up his leg making him step backwards. Green eyes snapped upwards where a charcoal mark radiated forth scorch marks.

"Hello there," whispered Dean.

Lowering his flashlight, he squatted down running his finger along the crusted red line. The thick substance sang with familiarity to him. It was blood. Eyes narrowing, Dean traced the image into his mind. Whatever this symbol meant, it was heavy-duty. Rocking back into a stance, he turned around to explore more of the basement when his face met the oncoming pipe. Flying backwards into the wall, stars exploded before him as three figure merged from the shadows. Each one wore simple layered outfits typical of fishermen. And each one had pitch black eyes.

-------

Three floors above, Sam Winchester entered a classroom, maps of the United States and Europe lining the wall. Scanning the room filled with rows of tiny desks, the younger hunter sagged his shoulders in disbelief. This was ridiculous. Why were they even here still? Frustrating anger bubbled deep within him. Was Ruby's source incorrect in the info?

No, whispered a dark voice. Ruby would never lie to him. They had been through too much. Thus, only one option was left open: they were too late. Either way, it was useless. "What a waste of time."

"And here I thought you loved school, Sam."

Spinning around, the man was caught off guard as he was flung onto a small desk. Falling on the ground, he quickly picked himself off locking eyes on a short hazelnut woman standing in front of the teacher's desk. Tilting her head, pale gray eyes flipped into black. "What? No witty comeback? Wait that was your brother wasn't it?"

Rising onto his feet, Sam felt his blood begin to thrum as the demon blood stirred at the sight of the possessed woman. "I needed someone to teach a lesson to first."

A sinister little smile beamed on the woman's face. "Oh, I'm hurt. Don't you remember me?"

The light bulb clicked as hazel eyes widened. "Meg."

"The one and only, even if that name is a bit outdated." Tilting her head with a cocky smile, the demon rested lazily against the wood.

Face morphed into rage as he remembered his last encounter with the demon. The pain of being trapped inside his own body helpless to stop the killing of a hunter haunted his mind. And then there were the moments he was blacked out. Sam repressed a shudder. Even now, Dean never spoke of what happened between them when Meg was in control. But he was no longer that weak man. No, he was stronger now.

Raising his arm, the hunter was dead set on sending this thorn back to Hell. But to his surprise, the woman laughed abruptly. "Sam, you never cease to amaze me. I mean wow, who would have thought the kid I met on the side of the road could kill Alastair."

His mind froze as those words rang in the air. "W-what?"

"I must say, Sam, I couldn't do such a feat and I'm pretty up there on the demon chain."

Scowling, he reached out with powers locking her to the desk. "Shut up and tell me where's Lilith?"

Not fighting back, Meg rolled her eyes in annoyance. "You know how to hurt a girl's feelings."

"I'm not in the mood-"

"She was never here, Sam. It was just me and my little band of merry demons."

The news spilled over him like a bucket of ice. Lilith was never here. Then this whole mission was for nothing. "_Not nothing_," purred the voice. Darkness fell over his face as a smile tugged his lips upward. In a flash, Meg found herself pinned onto the blackboard her body straining as a fire began to glow in her chest.

"R-really Sam?" gasped Meg, "Try-tryin to k-kill me so soon?"

Sam let his smile turn into a grin, "Not yet. Now tell me, what the hell where you doing here? And where is everyone?"

Grinning painfully, Meg shook her head, "You've gotta asked nicely Sam."

Rage shot up him at the insult. His vision ran red as he tightened his grip. He could see her black form twisting in pure agony. One more squeeze and Meg would no longer exist. This demon that manipulated and tortured him and his family was going to be gone for good this time. He would succeed once again where Dean failed. Dean, his weak-

"Sam Winchester, stop."

The soft voice pierced his mind like a silver bullet. Unlike the confused, lost voice he began to associate with the man, this one rumbled with a power that scared him. Lowering his hand slightly, Sam spotted the owner off to his side. The tan coat was rumpled and stained with blood and dirt. The usually ruffled black hair was even more of a mess of water and mud. "Cas, I-"

Meg laughed and with a burst of power threw Sam hard across the room. Knocking through a row of desks, Sam skidded across the dusty floor halting in front of the back wall black dots dancing before him. Off in the distant beyond the throbbing of his head, he heard the demon tsk loudly.

"I was hoping for Dean to lure you out angel, but who would have thought you'd come to Sam's rescue."

"You know very well where I was demon."

"Right, out there fighting with your brothers and sisters."

Groaning, Sam pushed himself up onto his feet swaying slightly. "Cas, stay out of this."

The angel stared at Sam coldly as he stepped between Meg and the Winchester. "No. You are treading a thin line. I will not allow you to kill another demon."

"But-"

Castiel tilted his head downwards, locking Sam with the sapphire cold eyes. Gulping, he couldn't help but take a step back relishing the contact with the wall. It was as if the angel was staring straight into his soul. "Leave."

A simple word barked from the rough low voice froze Sam with terror. Feeling like a five year old before this man that was smaller than him, the human felt the electricity that was cracking in the air. He shimmed carefully to the back door. With a quick turn of the knob, Sam belted out of the room as a desk flew right into the door knocking both items out into the hallway. Pulling out a gun, Sam scrambled down the stairs breathing heavily as his heart pounded hard in chest.

This was the barn all over again. Except this time instead of three demons and angels, there was a whole army out there waging war over their heads. "Stupid, stupid, stupid," snarled Sam was he jumped the last few steps onto the main floor. Looking down both halls, Sam threw himself to the left. He needed to find his brother now.

Back in the classroom where children once learned about the history of rising and falling empires, Castiel's blue eyes flickered with a second's breath of sorrow towards the younger Winchester. It was a fleeting moment in the span of history's timeline, but one of great significance. That one soft touch with feeling could cost him his very existence.

Eyes hardening with intensity, he embraced his true nature as a warrior of God. Moving his head slightly, Castiel soaked in the smirking demon before him with indifference. "Where is she?"

"I'm not the one whose gonna be spillin here," lunging forward, Meg kicked out, slamming her heels into Castiel's stomach. Staggering into the last remaining row of desks, Castiel twisted himself to the side as a fist crashed into the wood, cracking it.

"I'm giving you one more chance. Tell me where she is."

Meg groaned, "What is with you heroes and blabbering on and on?" Throwing out a punch, she hissed in frustration as it flew through the air. "It must be just ruffling those feathers of yours that you couldn't save a seal."

Her fist flew out once more but this time Castiel caught it. Fingers curling over the small hand, he yanked the woman towards him. "Then we are done here."

"Not yet pretty boy," with her free hand she flung a desk right into Castiel's side sending flying into the wall. Not waiting, Meg flicked her wrists towards him pinning the angel the wall with desks. Leaving one arm outstretched, the demon sighed. "Well, this was a bit disappointing. I thought that since you had to watch over those pesky Winchester boys, you would be a bit more powerful."

Gazing at her from his position, Castiel watched as Meg walk towards him. "From what I know, you were twice exorcized."

Hatred froze the demon in mid-step. Body shaking, black eyes narrowed into slits. "Why you-" spat Meg.

Feeling the desks ease slightly against him, Castiel vanished only to appear behind the demon. Twisting her arms behind her back, he placed his hand onto her forehead. Without warning, Meg shot her head back as a white light glowed behind black eyes. It took less than a second to vanquish the demon responsible for breaking the seal. Something all epic wars shared no matter where the battlefield was. Leaning slightly, the angel eased the battered woman gently onto the ground closing her empty eyes forever.

"Find peace now." Rising, Castiel let out a deep sigh weariness showing in the tiny break from the battle. Yet eyes soon found themselves pulled to the door where Sam had sprinted out. He had to find Dean and Sam quick before they were causalities. Reaching out slowly, Castiel searched for the bright light that was his ward. Immediately pain filled his mind pulsing in the floors beneath him. Something clenched in his chest and the only word that seemed to fit was fear. Shoulders squaring off, he was about to take off when another presence calmed his mind.

"Brother."

Blinking, Castiel turned his face to see a middle aged Hispanic man standing before him.

Wearing a simple black tee-shirt and dark blue jeans, the angel stared back with brown eyes shining in a holy light. "You are needed. The fight has yet to be won."

"I know."

The angels broke contact as the new comer gazed down at the dead woman. "Did the demon speak?"

"No."

"Then we must act quickly before she disappears. We cannot afford-"

"I know," the quick remark did little to hide the anxiety Castiel was feeling. His brother eyed him carefully. Schooling his features, Castiel fought to maintain his detachment. "Then let us go."

The other angel nodded and the two men disappeared from the classroom.

------

Down below, Dean gasped for air as the demon before him tightened his grip around his throat. Kneeling on the cold floor, Dean's fingers ached to reach for the gun that was only a few feet away. After the pipe, the demons attacked with ferocity knocking away his gun before using him as a punching bag. Shifting slightly to try and ease the grip, Dean let out a groan. He was tired of being some demon's punching bag. He was better than this...higher than them. Grasping onto the man's callused wrists, the hunter eyed his attacker with a glint to his eyes. "You ain't doing it right."

"'I ain't doing it right'?" sneered the demon Dean decided to name Moe. The other two stooges, one of them holding the pipe, grinned in the pale light emitting from his flashlight.

Moe looked at him with a lost look before his face lightened with recognition. "That's right you were Alastair's last little puppet, weren't you…Dean Winchester."

Dean grinned right back, releasing one hand from the wrists. "No."

Confusion tugged the demon's features downwards. Dean kept his grin on as he stabbed Ruby's knife through the man's wrist. The demon let out a loud scream jerking backwards. Twisting his neck free, Dean sliced outwards as he shoved the demon away. Collapsing onto his legs, the demon cradled the bleeding wrist yelling for his companions to help him. But the order was short-lived as Dean sprang onto his feet his hand slashing across the man's throat. Life flooding out of the body, the demon inside fire flickered out of existence.

Sniffing, Dean flipped the knife to catch the bloodily blade in his hand. Flashing his trade-mark grin, green eyes pooled to black as he gazed onto the other two demons. "I was his student."

The demon with the pipe took in his fallen commander. Without a word, he let go of the pipe pivoting on his feet. The pipe sent out an eerie clang as it hit the ground at the same time as the demon did with the knife embedded in his back. Swallowing, the remaining demon tilted his host's head back ready to eject but a cloth closed off his exit. With a powerful yank, he felt his back snap in half over a knee. Collapsing onto the ground biting back tears, he screamed bloody murder into the cloth as Dean tied it quickly before squatting over the man.

"You might as well give up cause you ain't smoking out of this meat suit." Reaching out, he pried the decorated knife out of the dead body. "Now," hovering the tip of the blade over the man's wide eyes, Dean let the grin disappear from his face allowing a stone expression form. He was a professional and business came before pleasure. "Tell me what that symbol over there means?"

The muffled curses made Dean roll his eyes. Things were never simple for him. "I guess you need a bit more coaxing." He traced the blade down to the chest and was about to slowly ease into the pale flesh when Sam's voice boomed through the basement.

"Dean!"

The tightening hold on the blade was the only indicator of Dean's displeasure. He couldn't very well Sam catch him in the act of torturing some poor soul. And he couldn't let the demon get lose and warn the others. So that only left him with one choice.

"I'll take a rain check then." Dean plunged the knife handle deep into the man a sliver of light shimmering against pitch black as the demon sizzled to death.

A few feet away, Sam halted in front of the stairs, "Dean!"

"What?"

Turning, he saw his brother come out from behind a pile of boxes. Holding the shotgun and flashlight, Sam caught a flicker of bruising on Dean's face. "What happened?"

"Oh some stupid demon decided to jump me, but it's all good." Stopping in front of Sam, Dean's crisp green eyes looked up to him. "Now, what's with all the screaming 'Wolf'?"

"We gotta get out of here now."

"What's the rush?"

Bolting up back to the main floor, Sam eyed the area around him making sure the cost was clear. "Meg's here and so is Cas."

Shock danced on Dean's face as he reached the top of the stairs. "What? Why?"

Sam shrugged. Dean always thought he had all the answers and it was beginning to be annoying. "I've been thinking about it and there's only one-"

The sentence was cut short as a loud explosion rammed through the wing of the school. The building shook, straining to remain intact as whatever crashed through the walls settled on the floor before the entrance of the hall. Instincts took over. Hunching onto the ground, the Winchesters covered themselves as a major dust cloud roared down the hall raining debris till all that remained was a blanket of brown fog.

---------------------------------------------------

A/N: Get some action going in this story! And it's just starting too. Muwhahaha.


	13. Chapter 13

Disclaimer: Same old same old, but here's a new one. Iron River does really exist in the Upper Peninsula of Michigan. So sorry to anyone who lives there about making the town a battlefield. Nothing against ya. Actually my folks and grandparents live up there and it's a fun place to visit. Now that's out the way....

A/N: Yes my favorite number, well next to 25 that is. And oh man, I was rewatching Yellow Fever and at the end when Sam asks Dean what he saw, his eyes flashed yellow for the briefest of seconds. Never saw that before! Now I'm done fangirling…at least for the moment.

**Unlucky Number **

The dust settled around the pair with the soft quietness of snow. Rising slowly, dirt fell off the tall hunter sprinkling more onto his worn out black boots. Green eyes squinted through the ash laden air spotting an imposing figure off in the distant. Gold light shimmered around the black shape outlining long extensions jutting out from the back. A shift of the light and the tips of a multitude of feathers shimmered with a clandestine gleam. It reminded the hunter of a transparent fish skin held up to the sun.

And just like that scale curling in upon itself from the heat of the unyielding sun, the image burned out of existence. Turning its head, the figure gazed through the dissipating cloud. Natural black eyes stared straight onto green as if the angel sensed where he was. The slight scrunch of the freckled nose of a teenage Asian girl was the only mark of recognition.

Swallowing Dean took a step back crunching debris from the ceiling underneath his boot. "Crap," was the only hoarse word escaping from his throat. Did she see him? The true him?

The loud clattering of rubble pulled the angel's attention back to her feet where the demon that had thrown her into the building grabbed onto her slim ankle. Grinning ear to ear, the middle-aged garbage man pulled himself upright delivering an uppercut onto the smaller figure. The angel fell backwards as the demon pulled her arm. Slamming back onto the ruined wall, the demon lunged forward to choke the girl but a slab of cement flew into his side sending him careening into the main lobby.

Jumping onto her feet, the angel glanced behind her but the human male was gone. A twitch of her lips into a frown betrayed her annoyance. Turning, she faced her opponent not feeling an ounce of pity for the demon as he lunged blindly at her once again. She was an angel of the Lord, a soldier and like any soldier she would dispatch of all demons without question.

Throwing another kick at the emergency door, Dean let out a small whoop as the metal door flung open. Grabbing his disorientated brother, the Winchesters sprinted out back into the alleyway. Turning left, Dean practically dragged his brother behind him. They had no time to lose.

"Stupid, stupid, stupid," snarled Dean as if the cursing would fuel him even faster. "We shouldn't have trusted her Sam. I swear the next time I meet Ruby I'm gonna slice her throat open!"

"D-Dean," groaned out Sam as he fought to regain his footing. Blinking back the stars, he reached up and touched his forehead. Drawing back his hand, he wasn't in the least surprised to see his fingers stained red.

"I'm done Sam, done playing the stupid, broken-down fool that everyone tramples over." A blood-curling scream erupted from his left. Without thought, Dean pivoted throwing Sam in front of him while letting go. Free now and still in motion, he grabbed onto Ruby's knife. His left hand shot out grabbing an elder woman demonic eyes burning with senseless rage. Burn marks littered her body showing signs of her escape from some fist-fight with an angel. Snarling, Dean stabbed the knife into the woman's throat up front before slicing outwards and up at the ear.

The body collapsed. Blood ran from the knife while specks dried on Dean's cheeks. Reaching up, he wiped himself clean with his dirty sleeve smearing the blood with dirt. The shadow falling over the woman was his only warning. Dean watched as a lean man with peppered hair tackled him towards a green truck.

Back slammed hard into the car bending the metal underneath Dean. His head whip lashed into the window. A sharp crack blasted into his ears as the glass strained to stay together. Blinking back stars, Dean's hands rushed upwards to block a punch to his face. The brute force sent shockwaves vibrating down his arms only to be replaced by the rushing of air out of his lungs as another fist slammed into his stomach.

Keeling over, Dean glared angrily up at jet-black eyes, his right hand inching towards the knife. Yet his hand froze as the air around him dropped into sub-zero temperatures. His lungs felt as they were squeezed together, precious air trapped behind a tight throat. Before him, the demon was jerking widely yet his massive body covered Dean's own chocking.

Head tilting back, black smoke began to spurt out of the mouth of the elder man. Fingers curling into his jacket, Dean felt a part of himself being tugged against his chest. His soul stretched out within him tearing painfully at the seams. Head dropped forward; inky black flooding his eyes in agony while Dean fought to keep his soul together.

Then air flooded his senses while the vacuum that pierced his body retreated. Gasping, Dean let the body of the dead man fall onto him. Collapsing, he heaved in a lungful of air, mind mending his tattered soul together. Off in the distance he heard Sam yell his name.

Sam.

His brother had used his power to exorcise the demon possessing the man. But with Dean in such close proximity and the head-wound his brother gained, Sam's aim wasn't on target accidentally grabbing onto the large demon before him, when in reality it was two demons. His gigantic, geek of a brother had almost flung him back to Hell. Disgust and rage bubbled deep in his core. A shift above him announced Sam's arrival.

"Dean, you ok?"

The older brother nodded his head. Body hunched head downcast and with his back to Sam, Dean inhaled deeply pushing away his demonic blackness. Feeling the rage subside enough to control it, Dean rose up onto his feet.

Sam reached out to help but Dean shoved him away. Having his brother touch sent the air plummeting again, the residue of Sam's power hovering in the air. Snarling, the smaller hunter ran a hand through his sweat-soaked hair gasping for air. "I'm fine. Just hate getting punched in the gut that's all."

Concern laced the large hazel eyes. "Dean-"

Checking to see if the knife was still behind his back, Dean took two steps forward and resumed his herding Sam to the Impala. If Sam was going to keep using his powers, Dean realized he had to get immune quick and learn how to read the signs. It was going to be painful research, but pain was something Dean could handle. The air began to rise and soon any traces around Sam were gone. "_Five seconds_," marked Dean as he barked out, "Shut it. We can talk later."

Reaching the car, Dean let out a sigh of relief. Thunder cracked louder and more often as if hinting the battle was reaching its climax. Opening the passenger door, he threw Sam in before skidding across the hood to his side. Sliding into his own seat, Dean ignited the engine. Burning rubber, he put the Impala in drive and roared down the highway away from Iron River.

Eyes remained fixed on the road long after they had crossed the border. Instead of shooting up north to Minnesota, Dean drove south towards Iowa. It wasn't till they were halfway that he decided to pull over at a rest stop. Outside, the sun was setting sending a fiery display up into the dark blue sky.

Leaning against the driver's door, Dean soaked in the image not liking how it seemed to emit from Iron River. Blood had been shed. Hundreds of innocent people had lost their lives in a battle they did not know exist. Thrusting his hands into his pockets, Dean drew his green jacket closer to his body. Before him the angel blazed in its glory, those holy black eyes etched with conviction.

Fear dripped down his spine. She couldn't have known about his little change. There was no way right? He didn't have black eyes and there was a good number of feet between them. Plus the dust and the war-

Blinking Dean found himself standing in the living room gazing straight at himself. No longer was the demon part of him a child but now was the tall, lanky form of his teenage years. Dressed in the large brown leather jacket that seemed to envelope him, the cocky demon hissed slightly in pain.

"_You ok_?" whispered Dean.

"_Peachy_," snarled his younger self. Straightening his back, he added, "_Don't worry about the angels_."

"_You wanna get caught_?"

Stuffing his own hands into the jacket, the demon rolled his eyes. "_Alastair taught us how to conceal from the enemy. There were powerful demons down in the Pit after our hide_. _It should work against angels as well_. _But that's not who we should worry about_."

The older Dean sighed, flicking his gaze to the pitch black night sky beyond the home. "H_ow about Cas_?" He didn't want to start thinking about what Sam did to him.

"_I'm thinking on it_…" the demon shuffled his feet against the wooden floor. Raising a hand, he pointed a bloody finger at Dean. "_We almost got killed today_."

Gazing down where the finger was pointing, Dean sighed deeply. Before this fiasco, the binding tattoos faded to a grayish color and was almost gone but now they were back to the vibrant black. "_That's not good_."

"_Really_," scoffed the teenager. "_Sam caught us off guard big time. If it wasn't for the mere fact of those bindings and that I'm a part of your soul, we'd be dead_."

Dean peered to his counterpart. "_There won't be a next time_."

"_Oh and how do you propose_-"

"_I got a plan_."

The stern tone silenced the budding demon. If there was one thing he had lacked in Hell it was this patient, reasoning aspect of himself. Eyes flicked back to watch as the tattoos shifted silently settling back after the violent tug from Sam. "_Fine, just_ _stick to our deal. We can't risk any major changes now. Or_" dark anger filled the room, "_Are you getting second thoughts?_"

Dean glared at the demon matching his own anger till one could not tell them apart. "_No. When I said I would do this, I'm doing it all the way_."

"_Right_," whispered the demon. "'_Like the first time when you said 'Sign me up_.'"

Marching up to his teenage self, Dean fixated his blackening eyes back onto himself till all there was his reflection. A small part of his mind laughed as it remembered an old quote about how when one stare long enough into the abyss, the abyss stares back. "_That's right_."

The demon closed his eyes and when they opened Dean found himself back in reality staring at the hayfields off in the distant.

"Dean."

Sliding his eyes over, he took in Sam's weary form. Hazel eyes gazed sadly onto a green that matched the surrounding hills.

"You look like crap."

Sam laughed as he leaned against the hood next to Dean. "You too."

"How's the head? Took a big blow there," concern laced Dean's voice but underneath that hurtful rage trembled softly. Coughing, he mustered the strength to play the big-brother role once more. He couldn't blow this cover, not now when his soul was healing itself. He needed to buy more time to full allow those bindings to disappear. Only then could Dean drop the façade. "_Come on, you kept Hell a secret for almost half a year, you can easily do this_."

"Good." Touching the scab on his hair line, Sam winced slightly. "How about you?"

A siren began to wail loudly in his head. Matching Sam's probing look, Dean shrugged his shoulders. "Peachy."

"You don't usually fall down from one punch," pressed Sam.

Dean winced, hearing the quiet implication his brother was making. Weak. Frowning, the older brother shot back. "Well you get punched in the gut by an extremely ticked-off demon with super strength and let's see how you fare."

Shaking his head, Sam let the argument drop. "So, what the hell happened back there?"

Dean shrugged, "An angel and a demon took the big tumble through the hall. I grabbed us once the dust cleared and dragged your sorry butt out of there. You're welcome by the way."

"I guess I owe you one." Sighing, Sam gazed upwards taking in the violet and pale orange hues of the sunset. "This was a screwed up hunt."

"I wouldn't call it a hunt." The confused look Sam shot his way, Dean let his disappointment shine threw. "It was more of a suicide mission. If I didn't know better, Ruby sent us up here to die."

"She wouldn't do that Dean," snapped Sam.

"Oh really, Sherlock cause with angels and demons fighting all around-"

"Ruby wanted me to take out Meg."

Blinking back, Dean looked upon Sam as if he had lost it. "Say what?"

Sam took in a deep breath, mustering the strength to utter the next words. "Ruby must have gotten word about the seal up there."

"You sure it was a seal?"

Sam shot Dean a 'Are-you-serious' glare. "Angels and demons fighting Dean." Taking a deep breath, Sam continued, "She wanted me to take out Meg to prevent it from being broken."

"Oh really, cause she cares that much out of her demonic little heart."

"Anyway," hissed Sam through clenched teeth. "It makes sense."

Silence filled between the pair before Dean cleared his throat. "So what happened to her, Meg?"

Shrugging, Sam kicked lightly at the dirt. "I don't know. I was about to send her to Hell when Cas showed up. He told me to book it." Coldness seeped into his bones as he remembered those stern blue eyes. "I did and went to find you." Lips pursing, Sam barely heard Dean press further.

"And?"

"Meg used me as bait to draw Cas out."

"Well of course she did Sam; she's a freakin demon and its war."

Brown locks shook softly against Sam's face. "It's not that. It just the way Cas held himself and how Meg just let me go. It was as if they wanted to talk."

Dean rolled his eyes, not believing what he was hearing. "Yeah cause you know Meg has this major crush on Cas and she wanted his phone number."

Huffing out his burning patience, Sam moved back and forth. "Sure don't believe me Dean."

Turning, the older Winchester faced his brother. "Of course I believe you, Sam. But this just seems strange."

Matching his sibling, Sam threw his hands before him. "Exactly. I know Ruby fumbled on this one but something big happened up there and I'm going to find out what."

"Sam." Warning tickled at his bones. Something big did happen but not in the town. It was in that classroom with Meg. He knew how much his brother hated that demon. And if he knew Sam, like he did, then his brother wouldn't have sent Meg back to Hell. No, he would have killed her.

A tiny part of Dean twitched as picturing Meg's twisting form pegged to his rack, bleeding beautiful from his knives and the air filled with her jumbled screams. It almost wetted his appetite. But no, he had to stay focused. This was exactly the reason he made the jump in becoming his old self. Sam had gotten the taste of killing demons and now it was one more thing he was getting addicted to besides his disturbing loyalty to Ruby.

"What?" snapped Sam, hazel eyes brimming almost a darker shade.

Dean stared hard and deep into those eyes noticing the minute changes within Sam. He was becoming agitated and trigger-happy. It was a look he had seen many a times in trashed alleys filled with druggies and even in the Pit with some demons losing themselves over and over again in the torture. Alastair always warned him it was a delicate balance in handling one's enjoyment in torturing. One should feel just enough to get pleasure from it, but not drown to the point where one just hacks and hacks to reach that high.

And Sam was showing signs to becoming one of those trigger-happy, slice and dice demons that showered in the blood and guts of their victims. "Nothing, let's just go. I'm starving."

Sam nodded and quietly walked back to his position. Dean stayed standing till he heard the passenger door close. Taking one long look into the now dark bluish black sky with no moon in sight, Dean swore that he would never let Sam become one of those addicts even if he had to physically force his brother to change. Deep within him, the black marks hummed in quiet agreement working its black magic underneath the scab on Dean's soul.

-------------

Castiel crouched next to the cold body of a man. Around him, a pool of blood had hardened overlapping the caked animal blood of the symbol painted on the floor. Blue eyes darkened with dread as he took in the deep stab wound in the heart. There was only one weapon he knew that could kill a demon.

Breathing out slowly, he pulled his coat a bit closer not liking the vibes coming from the basement. Unseen wings drooped with a tiredness he had never felt. This battle had been toiling. Not only had an important seal been broken allowing Her to walk but they had almost been overtaken by the demons.

Unlike Lilith's troops, these demons under Meg were suicidal and determined if they had to die so would an angel. Then not to mention the appearance of Sam…

His shoulders sunk even deeper behind the tan trench-coat. For once, Castiel found himself happy for the piece of clothing. Sam had almost killed Meg. To find the human conducting such an act again was not a good sign. Castiel could forgive the time with Alastair in protecting Dean, but this time it was out of pure hatred. But that would not be the way his superiors would see it. To them, Sam had his first strike back with Samhain, then Alastair was his second. One more strike and even Castiel would not be able to protect the youngest Winchester from the wrath of Heaven.

The heavy flapping of wings signaled the arrival of one of his brothers. Stepping up to Castiel's shoulders, the same tanned-skinned angel tugged his dirty torn shirt magically repairing the piece of clothing.

"What is it, Naya'il?"

Brown eyes peered down at Castiel with a quizzical motion. Naya'il being the Angel of Testing, Castiel knew he had to be careful around this one. One false move and he would be punished for 'getting to close to the humans.'

"The battle is over. We won."

The clipped tone made something shiver in disgust within him. Rising onto his feet, Castiel closed his eyes briefly sending a pray to this poor soul. "We did not win nothing brother. We failed today."

A soft hmm was the only response. Opening his eyes, Castiel turned his focus back onto his brother who was now transfixed by the broken seal. "Our sister Eae gave an interesting report."

"Oh."

Shifting on his feet, Naya'il stared hard and long into unending blue eyes. "She claimed to have seen Dean Winchester. Sadly, a demon attacked her but being an expert in thwarting demons the fight ended soon after. Yet by then, the human was gone." Leaning slightly into Castiel's personal space, brown eyes hardened into stone. "If Dean was here, then so was Sam. Did you know Winchesters would be here?"

Bracing himself against the closeness, enough to feel his brother's energy crackling with an ebbing adrenaline rush; Castiel felt a sense of deja-vu wash over him. Was this how Dean felt back when he breached the hunter's space back in the kitchen of Bobby Singer's home? Under this intense scrutiny, did Dean pray for the angel to not notice the catching of his breath, the pounding of his heart and the fervent prays of not discovering his secrets?

In that one second, Castiel understood Dean with a clarity that scared him. It was like a switch had been turned on. This revelation should not be making him feel closer to Dean, to being human.

Blinking to hide his distress, Castiel's lips thinned. Answering in his gruff voice, the angel tilted his head slightly. "No. I would never compromise tactical data to the hunters. They received their information elsewhere."

Naya'il continued to stare at Castiel for a couple more seconds before leaning away. Nodding, the dark-haired angel gazed back onto the symbol. "They aided in our fight by killing these demons. So this incident will be overlooked. But-"

With his own tilt of the head, the other angel hammered home the warning blazing behind the cold façade of the host's face. "If they interfere once again in our business, there will be no lenience."

Castiel nodded abruptly. "I understand."

"Now come, one of our brothers must purify this place."

The fluttering of wings was the only sound that marked their departure. A graveyard silence floated through the town casting it with fog. In the sky, a single burst of light from a ray of the setting sun blazed down upon the town.

Iron River was no more.

----------------------------------------------------------------------

A/N: To be continued....


	14. Chapter 14

Disclaimer: Same as before.

A/N: Hope y'all had a great Fourth of July weekend!! It rained here, so I was typing up this long chapter. Whew.

**Once upon a time**

The drive to Bobby Singer's house was filled with a tense silence. The brothers gazed endlessly out the windows, classic rock bellowing in the void between. Cracked black tarmac passed underneath the Impala driving the brothers away from the bloodshed. Yet Sam could still smell the sulfur surrounding Meg. His blood thrummed softly, the latest fix dying away. The youngest Winchester blinked as idle fingers ran over his pant's pocket containing his cell. He could call her. Or in one tiny quick stop, Sam could reach into his duffle bag and pull out the silver flask with the precious red liquid.

One fix would solve his problems.

The tightening of flesh against leather flicked hazel eyes over to watch the other occupant in the car. Dean's face was a stone, green eyes zeroed in on the horizon. Knuckles were turning whiter as his brother's hold on the wheel increased. Dean licked his dry lips pushing away the phantom touches of smooth, thick blood dripping onto his hands.

The fear flickering in those demons' eyes at realizing how much of a threat he was heightened his body onto a whole new level of adrenaline. Over the course of the days, memories of his other self played before him filling him on new tactics. The other was right. They would be able to hide from the angels and soon be able to withstand Sam's powers.

One more leap would be his cure.

Pulling the Impala into a run-down gas station, he turned off the engine when Sam spoke in a low voice laced in warning.

"Dean-"

Dean patted his wheel, "I know." Stepping out of the car, he made his way to the bathroom located in a small building off of the station. A small wave at the old owner eased way the elder's tension. The place was a two-pump place down a beaten road. Any traffic was rare. A smile from Sam as he began to fill the tank ceased the man's paranoia of being robbed. Settled, the grandpa focused back on solving last week's crossword.

The soft crunching of dirt signaled the arrival of a dust-covered blue Tracker. Parking off to the side, Sam watched with his back slightly turned as a late teen stepped out of the car making his way to the bathroom Dean entered a few minutes ago. Clicking off the pump, Sam reholstered the nozzle. Feeling the familiar weight of his pistol, Sam walked quietly to the small building.

Inside the bathroom, the teenager sniffed the air, face crunching up in disgust. Brown eyes stopped in front of the mirror where the almost shaven off hair of the youngster hinted at his youth despite the hardened features of working outdoors constantly at the logging company. Pulling up the loose blue jeans, he rolled up the long sleeves of the black sweater taking in the bathroom. There were only five stalls and two urinals, all covered in dust and grim. Two bathroom stalls were closed but no feet were present underneath the door.

Turning his back, the teenager turned on the knob letting water splash against the moldy sink. Bending down to wash his hands, the young man halted when he felt a knife graze his throat.

"Easy kid," whispered a voice against his ear.

Straightening up, jet black eyes took in the reflection of Dean Winchester. Turning slowly, the demon faced the hunter as the click of the door was the only signal of the arrival of the other hunter.

Sam Winchester stepped away from the door, hatred flowing off of him at the sight of the demon. Mouth twitching, he waited for the perfect moment to throw the creature back to the hellfire Pit he had crawled out of.

Off to the side, Dean grinned as he stared at the lanky teenager. "You've been following us since Iron River. At first you did a pretty good job at not being noticed…but now…" A tsk broke through Dean's lips, "You got sloppy kiddo."

The demon sneered and was about to whiplash a comeback when he felt the tip of the blade nick at his skin. Dean let out a short laugh. "What? You in a rush to beat your buddies to the punch?"

"You don't know squat," hissed the teenager.

Sam felt panic begin to rise in him. If this demon had called others, then they didn't have time to fool around. "Dean-"

The other man seemed to not hear him, entranced by the black eyes. There was rebellion shimmering in those obsidian surfaces. This one wasn't going to break easy like the others in the basement. Dean liked this one. It reminded him of a bit of himself with that stubborn attitude.

Coldness seeped into the air, falling into a vacuum. Dean watched as those black eyes shifted to stare over his shoulder with fear. He knew what was happening, bracing himself just in case he couldn't control his little brother. "Sam, stop."

The words vibrated in the air with authority. The demon watched with awe as Sam whose hand was halfway raised lowered itself back down. He had heard much about the youngest Winchester and how violent he had become after his brother's death.

"Oh, look the pit-bull does have a master," joked the demon.

Humiliation sprung the arm straight back up as anger darkened the man's features. Dean turned his head slightly, locking green eyes on his taller brother. "Sam," came out in a deep bark. "Get in the car, drive to the town that's five miles away and find us a motel room."

Hazel eyes shot to his brother, hurt shining in them. "I can-"

"I know what you can do, but sending him to the Pit won't do us any good." Shifting his focus back on the demon, Dean oozed of confidence. "We need to know who he contacted and how many."

"I know that," snapped Sam.

"Then you know to prep the room for a long, painful exorcism." Dean smirked at the young face before him. "Does that sound good to you, kid?"

The teenager grinned right back, mocking covering his discomfort. "I'm gonna rip your eyes out."

Laughter spilled out from Dean's, "Great imagination there. Sam, go. I'll catch up with our new little friend here."

"Fine," grumbled Sam as he slammed out of the bathroom. He did not want to leave a demon in his brother's presence. But Dean had a point. They had to find out how many were after them and they couldn't do it in the bathroom without drawing attention.

Dean waited as he heard the Impala rumble to life. Then with a flick of his wrist, he nicked a triangle into the man's throat, adding a slash through each line. "Congelo et subsisto."

Stepping away, Dean tucked the knife behind his back. The demon blinked in amazement as the hunter moved to the door. Leaning his ear against the door, Dean heard the Impala roar down the road. After a couple of seconds passed by, he grabbed the cleaning sign. Cracking the door open, he propped the sign right out the door. Closing it again, he locked it with a resounding click.

Behind him, the demon pushed his body forward to attack, but the limbs of his meat-suit wouldn't budge an inch. Slamming once more, the demon snarled and was about to push himself outwards when his smoky form froze in the meatsuit.

Panting heavily, the demon watched as Dean moved to stand before him with a satisfied grin on him. "What the hell did you do to me?" raged the teenager.

Reaching out, Dean pushed back the thin strands of brown hair from the neck eying the symbol. "When Alastair was ticked, he was real nasty." Circling his arm around the boy's neck, Dean pulled the paralyzed body off the sink towards an open stale. "One of his favorites was to drag down some random dead meatsuit. Without a word, he'd shove me in there and carve this symbol into my flesh muttering the incantation." Pushing the teenager into the narrow room, he knocked the boy down onto his knees. "It trapped me in that suit…I could feel every slice even more…feel the flesh dying…I would stay that way trapped in a rotting corpse till Alastair freed me."

The demon scrambled to gather his anger towards the hunter, whose voice seemed to drift off as the memory took a hold of him. On his knees, the demon stared down into the toilet bowl where he spotted a rosary drifting in the water. "Don't you dare!"

Green eyes seemed transfixed on the black graffiti painted on the cement wall. "Do you now what it's like being stuck in a rotting corpse?" Blinking, eyes fell upon the possessed teenager. "It stinks…just like this bathroom."

Without warning, Dean slammed forward pushing the boy's head into the holy water. Screams bubbled the water. No trashing fueled by demonic strength resisted Dean's position. After a few seconds, Dean pulled back dragging the dripping head with him.

Gasping for air, the demon screamed out his rage and terror. "You psycho! When I break-" His threat was cut short as he was thrown back into the burning water filling his mouth, eyes and ears.

Easing back, Dean let the teenager slump slightly against him watching the steam rise off his pale face. Shuddered breaths racked the small frame. "I know."

Black eyes shot at him, the question burning in their depths. Dean tilted his head, leaning slightly forward. "I know you came alone. That you were following us, hoping to turn Sam and me over to Lilith to win her good graces and join her troops."

"Sss-screw y-you," stuttered the demon, blood spilling from his burning mouth.

Dean shook his head. "Guess you're not as creative as I gave you credit for." Letting go of the sweater, the hunter watched as the body thumped on its back before him. "But your stubbornness…" A hand slid into his pants' pocket, pulling out a switchblade. Flicking out the blade, Dean sliced a piece of the black sweater into a broad strip. Placing the knife on the boy's chest, Dean soaked in the glimmer of fear. Twisting the strip of cloth, he leaned forward grabbing the soaked brown hair. Lifting it off the ground, Dean slipped the gag into the boy's mouth tying it tightly behind his head. He didn't want the screams to attract attention.

Nodding as if satisfied with his work, Dean gazed down at the body before him soaking in every curve, bend and weak points. The demon felt the penetrating gaze sweep over him sending his borrowed skin crawling with unease.

Dean licked his lips, nodding to himself. "I don't really care if you called someone or not. All I want to do is picked up where I left off in the basement. So tell me, what seal did you break?"

Black eyes faded to brown that swelled with pure fear begging him to stop this insanity. The teenage boy was still in there, trapped alongside the demon. A part of Dean screamed out that he should drag this possessed boy to the motel room, to save this soul. But that was something he couldn't do. No, he made a deal to embrace his demonic side to its fullest in order to save his brother. That was all that mattered.

Apathy fell on Dean's hardened face. Reaching out, he let his fingers curl over the pocket knife feeling the muffled screams vibrate underneath him. Blinking, he broke contact with the boy's face staring instead on the blackness of the sweater.

He had to carry out his plan. To fully torture another demon would push his healing faster, making the binding stronger. Only then could he face Castiel without fear of being recognized, of always being on the look-out on when Sam would use his powers. He would be at peace, no longer be tired anymore.

"Sorry you had to get involved kid," whispered Dean. "But I need to do this." With that, Dean ran a thumb over the edge of the knife, as he pushed the sweater upwards revealing smooth, pale unscarred skin. "This…" the sentence trailed away from his lips. Swallowing, he shook his head to clear away the doubt and disgust rising in him as those muffled screams turned into sobs.

Centering himself, Dean found himself pinned to the bloody rack.

"_Dean," purred Alastair, his dark form crouched over Dean's freshly healed soul. "I can't saw with you shaking all over the place."_

_Fear burned in Dean as white eyes bore at him with warning. Teeth chattering, he fought to control the shaking but it was too much. Everything these past years was too much. Just when Dean thought he knew all there was to know about pain and torture, Alastair would prove him wrong. Again and again and again. It was an endless cycle._

_A sulfuric sigh brushed against his cheek making the flesh sizzle. "Do you want to make this more painful?"_

_The slightly condescending tone brought forth a memory of a forgotten mother's patience as she tried to coax a stubborn four year old to take his cough medicine. Rage only pushed Dean's over-taxed body into a fullblown panic attack. "G-g-go fre-fre-kin h-h-han-g your-s-sself-f!"_

_Silence filled the air as the tormentor paused, white eyes blazing brightly in the ash filled air. Dean kicked himself mentally at the outburst. He just had to tick Alastair off. What would it be this time? The rotting corpse? Drowning in his own blood? Or hearing Sam and his dad screaming before him?_

_Green eyes blew into wide saucers as Alastair reached out, running his claw fingers through Dean's soaked hair. "You know, when I was young, my mother would tell me a story to ease away my worries."_

_Stunned silence was his only reply. Pleased, Alastair continued to pet Dean as his free hand raked the saw gently down Dean's ribs. Being gentle was as efficient as being cruel when used in the right manner. "Once upon a time, in a castle deep in the forest, there lived a young little Prince. His father the King constantly pushed him, punishing his son for the death of the Queen. Yet the growing resentment of the Prince was that the King never once lifted a finger to his younger sons. No, those he spoiled as he sent his eldest to fight battles upon battles against dragons, witches and other monsters."_

_Dean found himself hypnotized by Alastair's deep voice curling over each word. Breaths slowed down as the Torturer continued, the shaking drifting away. With each sentence the saw pressed deeper, drawing strings of blood in its wake. Yet the other hand, continued to run through the drenched hair with false caring. A part of Dean's brain that was not overridden with pain or stunned scrambled to find the point of the story but soon it didn't matter. He wanted to know how it ended as blood ran from his body like an overfilled sink. And so, Alastair would repeat the story again and again every time Dean fell into a massive panic attack rendering the session useless. By the 30 year mark, Dean had the story memorized. And like the first time, he was memorized by the tale of gore, betrayal and justice. _

_"Then the Prince raised the sword bathed in the blood of his brothers, swinging with all his might into the green dragon that was once his father." _

_The story never left, only changing slightly to adapt to new circumstances. Bending over, Alastair calmed the budding student whispering, "What would the Prince do, Dean?"_

Green falling into black, fingers no longer shaken, Dean tilted the blade. "The Prince would make the blood of the innocent equal the blood of the damned."

The slicing of soft flesh marked the first cut.

-------------------------

Sam waited, prowling the room like a caged panther, which is what he felt like at the moment. The shades were drawn low and closed to prevent anyone from sneaking a peek into the room. Speaking of the room, the blue and orange splattered room with horses decorating everywhere with team pride did not scream of the exorcism about to take place. The only thing out of place was the chair standing in the open space with a painted devil's trap on the blue ceiling.

Sighing, Sam ran a hand through his hair. "Where are you Dean?" Glancing at his watch, the youngest Winchester frowned. It had been an hour since they parted ways. The only contact was about ten minutes ago when Dean called telling him that he was on his way.

Flopping onto the stiff bed, Sam snaked his hand through his bag pulling out the silver flask. Unscrewing the cap, he tapped lightly against his palm. Thick red blood oozed out like melted ice-cream. Screwing the cap back on with haste, Sam bent down licking the dark substance up. His body sang with joy as the poison rushed through his veins.

Bending upwards, Sam licked his lips clean, tucking the flask back into his coat pocket. Lying down, he stared at the unending blue a smile spreading like oil on his face. Power roared through him opening trains of thought he never knew were possible. Switches upon switches were being turned on filling him with unbridled power.

It was glorious.

Three knocks pulled Sam upwards. Glaring at the origin, he trudged to the door. Straightening up, pushing his hair away from his face, Sam wiped away all traces of the high he was on. Opening the door, surprise lit his face as Dean wedged between him and the frame covered in dirt.

"What happened to you? And," peeking outside, Sam scanned the parking lot. "Where's the demon?"

Dean threw his coat on the bed nearest to the door, kicking off his shoes in the process. "He got away, but I tracked him down in the woods and killed him with the knife. I just got back from disposing of the body."

The loud slam of the door, enough to rattle his teeth yanked Dean around to face the seething form of his brother. "You ok?"

"I'm fine," grounded out Sam, clenching his fists by his side. He was looking forward to ripping the demon apart and sending him back to Hell. But like always, Dean had beaten him to the punch. It was like back in the bathroom, he had only begun to stretch out with his powers when Dean told him to stop. How had his brother known what he was doing without even sparing a glance at him?

Dean shrugged his shoulders, making his way to the bathroom. "Listen, get things packed up. I want to leave right after I done showering?"

Sam sent a questioning glance at his brother, fighting back a pout. "Why?"

"Cause we might end up with some unexpected company," lied Dean easily. The demon hadn't told anyone, he was certain of it. Just as certain as the rest of the confessions that spilt from a gashed lip of the dying teenager raining down onto Dean's ears. A shiver ran down his spine as the demon's voice whispered the spoken name of Her.

"I'll get the Impala ready."

Sam's voice pulled Dean back to reality. "Good." With that he shut the bathroom door.

---------------------------

The pair reached Bobby's house the next day, zigzagging their way to the only home they knew. Upon stepping across the salt-laden threshold, Dean fought back a wave of triumph. There was one more test to see if his plan had worked and it swished in the brown beer bottle the older hunter handed him. Taking in a deep breath, Dean felt a part of him brace for the acidic holy water. The watered-down holy beer flooded his mouth, running down his parched throat. The bindings held fast. No twitches or smoke. Nothing.

Lowering the bottle from his lips, Dean collapsed on the sofa letting blissful relief flood his senses. Closing his eyes briefly, he saw his childhood home flash before him, covered in runes to block all angelic gazing from the windows of his soul. Everything was falling into place. In the background, he heard Sam fill Bobby up on all the details concerning Iron River.

"So you idjits witnessed a major fight and lived?" shot Bobby's voice, irritation radiating off of the man.

Dean cracked his eyes, laughing nervously, "Well when you say it like that Bobby…"

The elder hunter sent a stern glare towards the cocky young man who was crashed on his sofa. "I swear I'm amazed that you lasted this long, Dean."

"Well," Dean pushed himself off of the sofa, throwing a piece of paper onto the table Sam had situated himself on. "This might help." The rest of the information he had gathered from the demon remained silent behind his lips. Sam did not need to know of the other monsters lurking out in the shadows. Ignorance would save him from the angels while Dean knew he was on a one-way flight back to Hell.

Sam reached out, unfolding the crumbled white paper revealing a circular symbol with four Celtic-like stars woven inside. "Where did you get this?"

"It was in the basement. Whatever it was, it was heavy duty with it being etched in blood and all." Dean took in another swig of his beer wanting to do a happy-dance that holy water had no affect on him.

The research mode flipped on in Sam. Reaching for a book, the younger Winchester was soon buried in books searching for the symbol. "This is defiantly a broken seal what with angel-demon knockout and blood. But for what, I don't know. Lore is pretty abstract about what seal is for what."

Tilting the brim of his hat upwards, Bobby scratched idly on his forehead. "I've seen this before."

Sam frowned, glancing up at Bobby. "You have?"

Bobby was already at his desk, rifling through a draw full of papers. Finally, he let out a small grumble and placed three pictures on his desk. Two of them were of people: one male and one female.

The woman was in her mid-twenties with thick black hair tucked underneath a baseball cap. Dark brown almost black eyes shimmered in mockery. Her natural tan shone underneath the clear blue sky. She was standing in the junkyard before a 1987 black, gray trimmed GMC Jimmy, a green duffle bag swung over her shoulders

The man was in his late forties, white hair beginning to show at his side. The wild blond hair complimented the tight, weathered face enhancing the beady blue eyes. He wore a faded plaid red vest, arms propped up on a bar, a scowl darkening his face. Next to his, was the last picture containing a ruined car factory, with a dark-red circular symbol etched onto the floor.

"It's the same symbol," whispered Sam. "Why would the same symbol be at two places?"

"Got me," muttered Bobby, "But-"

Dean picked up the picture of the girl, letting out a low whistle. "Who are these people, Bobby?"

Huffing, Bobby plucked the picture out of Dean's hand, shooting him a warning glare. "They're hunters. Damn good ones at that. The man is Rick Varmin. He was last spotted near a big gang war in LA. Then a couple weeks before Dean busted out of the Pit, he vanished out of thin air. No one's heard of him since."

Attention caught, Dean titled his head slightly, "And you think they're connected?"

"There ain't much but lookin back now the massive building damage and that strange symbol reappearing again...I'm afraid he might have been caught up in a battle over a seal."

Nodding, Dean pressed forward. "And the woman?"

Sorrow filled Bobby's face. ""Her name is Alexei Trant. Her fiancée was possessed by a demon and she killed him. The officials let the murder go with it being self-defense. Her parents, though, wanted her locked up in an institution, but she booked it."

Turning the picture, Bobby took in the mused face of the woman. "Alexie found out the truth and started hunting." Pausing, he ran a hand over his beard. "While you boys were out and about, she'd swing by now and again."

Dean narrowed his eyes, everything clicking together. "You trained her."

Swallowing Bobby continued, "She didn't need much. Her daddy took her hunting for deer and elk all the time. She was a natural, even has the brains what with a major in anthropology of all things." A smile touched Bobby's face. "For a young woman, she's pretty dang good."

Shifting slightly, Sam spoke the unanswered question. "Why are you bringing this up, besides it being connected to the seal?"

Dark blue eyes peered up at the brothers fear shining in them. "She's got relatives up in the Wisconsin border. It's been almost two weeks since I heard from her and what you're telling me about Iron River." Taking in a deep breath, Bobby fought to keep his voice calm. "Did you happen to see her there?"

The brothers stared at each other both at a loss of words. Dean cleared his throat. "We really didn't run into a lot of people, Bobby. She might have been, but if you say she's as good as a hunter as you said, then she's alive out there. Just give her time to contact you and we'll keep an eye out."

Smiling softly, the older hunter nodded. "Thanks." Clearing his throat, all concern vanished underneath the familiar stern face of the expert hunter. "I got a hunt for you boys."

Letting his exuberance show, Dean let out a wide grin. "Oh yeah."

Masterful eyes trained on him for a second before the older hunter continued. "Yeah, there's some comic book store in Minnesota that's haunted. It's causing quite a stir."

Chuckling, Dean rocked back and forth on his heels. "Awesome. Sam, we're so checking this out. I betcha you can get your Wonder Woman fix."

Humiliation darkened Sam's face as he pushed away from the table. "I do not have a Wonder Woman addiction."

Slapping his hands against his thigh, Dean tilted his head back staring at the intricate devil's trap above his head. Well there was another worry to scratch off his list. It seemed finally his human qualities were kicking in. Soon, not even Sam's powers would faze him. Torturing the teenage demon turned out to be a blessing despite of the news he learned concerning the seal.

Finishing off their beers, each brother grabbed their coats and started walking towards the door. When Sam began to reach for the screen, Bobby's voice filled the hallway. "You boys be careful now."

"Will do, later," clasping hands with Bobby, Dean and Sam left the house marching towards the Impala.

_-In a small town in Minnesota-_

"Can I help you Miss?"

Thick black locks hung wildly over an oval tanned face. Slim muscular arms rested on the dented wooden counter. Flashing pearly white teeth, normal dark brown eyes sparkled with mirth. Wearing a dirty torn pair of carpenter jeans with hiking boots crossed on the stool bar, the mid-twenty year old woman raised her hands to tighten the loosening ponytail. The blue tank top hung loosely from her small frame.

The bartender, a man well into his eighties, sighed. Dropping his white towel into the sink, he walked over to his only customer. The woman had just walked into his bar looking as if she had traveled a long way. Upon closer inspection, he took in the natural tan skin color and a grace that seemed to vibrate around her. She looked exotic and if he knew any better was definitely a foreigner.

"First drink on the house," grinned the bartender. "Got an ID?"

A small frown tugging at her lips, the woman twirled a piece of her hair around her finger. A hand rested on the wood sliding a white square across.

The bartender took in the driver license of Alexie Trant. Nodding in satisfaction, he shrugged his shoulders. "What do you want?"

"Actually…" Her voice rasped out beyond cracked pink lips.

Eyes widening, the elder man chastised himself for not figuring it out sooner. Of course she would parch. With the weather out there finally becoming summer, it was amazing she hadn't fainted upon entering.

Filling up a glass of water, he propped the drink in front of her. Small fingers surrounded the glass running up and down as if taking in the smooth texture.

Clearing his throat, the man propped an arm on the counter. "Anything else?"

Alexie nodded. "I need to find my brother."

"Well, first get hydrated and then you can use the pay phone over in the corner to call him." Standing up right, the bartender gazed back down at the woman whose eyes were fell upon themselves staring into the recess of the glass.

"You ok? Hungry? Need more water?"

A whisper breathed out the answer so softly he barely heard her. "I'm always hungry."

--------------------------------------------

A/N: A new character is added into the mix and the boys are going to visit a certain comic book store... Until next week!


	15. Chapter 15

A/N: Sorry, but a plot bunny jumped me and wouldn't leave me alone till I finished this little music video about Dean and him going all dark. But hey, at least I'm not too late and this one is nice and long too :) And thanks to all you great reviewers! Oh, before I forget. I've been pondering about it and I've decided that despite how awesome Chuck is (love the guy) he just won't work in this story. Don't want him spoiling the fun of hinting that Dean's a demon. So yeah, no hard feelings.

**Love a martyr today**

An early crispness cracked in the cloudy sky above a town in Minnesota. Faint decay tickled the senses as wide leaves fell withering onto the unyielding sidewalk. People bustled on the streets, grumbling about the change of weather. It was too early in the year for Fall to make its' appearance. Flower pots hung on their racks rocking back and forth in the wind. Purple and pink flowers grew darker in color as green leaves began to curl onto themselves turning slightly brown on the edges.

"Stupid geek boys," huffed Dean as he stepped out onto the sidewalk, Sam's large form behind him. "You'd think they'd respect the whole dress-up gig."

The glass door with white letters 'Comic Book Store' clanged shut with the slight ringing of a bell. Tugging on his black coat, Dean buried his shivers from the cold breeze. Alastair was right. Topside was an artic crap hole. But he wouldn't change it for the world. This was his realm now, a fresh start for him to make a name for himself with no peer pressure whatsoever.

"Dean," sighed Sam. "Let's just go, ok. Bobby was wrong. There are no ghosts here."

The older brother shook his head stubbornly. "No, there's something. Bobby doesn't mess up."

"Bobby's only human."

The glacier glare Dean shot Sam sliced into the younger man more than the gentle wind. "I'm gonna go look around. Maybe this ghost is jumping like the one in back at Truman High."

The scrap of a sole against the cement marked Dean turning his back to his brother. The black jacket shifted quietly as short dirty blond hair tilted upwards. Green eyes narrowed, a puff of air floating upwards. Before him, the small leaves of the flowers were a beige color while red petals wilted towards the soil. They were dying.

Lowering his head, Dean gazed around noticing how the other plants along the sidewalk all showed signs of wilting. Lips pursed themselves as Dean's face drew in. It was only mid-August. Everything should be in full bloom still considering the recent rainfall. There wasn't a drought mentioned in the weather.

The elder hunter watched as a leaf tumbled by his black shoes changing from green to red to brown. Fear rose within him as the bathroom demon's words trickled in his mind. This was not good. But then again, maybe he was paranoid. Yeah, paranoid sounded good. When a large hand rested on his shoulder, Dean couldn't fight back the jerk. Stumbling a bit, he gazed upon Sam's concerned face.

"You ok?" Worry laced Sam's words.

Nodding vigorously, Dean grinned lightly. "Yeah, just thinking if I needed to catch up on some Batman comics. I heard it's been a rough year for Mr. Pointy Ears too." Laughing softly, Dean shrugged off Sam's hand. "Look, I'm gonna head for the bars see if I can get an intel there. You go research College boy."

Gently shoving Sam towards the direction of the library, Dean handing his brother the keys to the Impala knowing Sam would be at the motel before him. The bar was located at the edge of town, its' simple brown façade sticking out like a sore thumb between a newly built Wal-Mart and Target. Pushing open the door, Dean stepped into the hazy filled air, the wood creaking underneath his steps. For a brief second he felt like a cowboy strutting through the saloon doors just before a shoot-out. It took one sweep of the area to spot the few clusters of men hanging around either a table or juke-box. In three strides, he reached the bar where an old man was wiping out some beer glasses.

"I'd like a beer," piped Dean as he shrugged off his coat. Loosing his tie, he watched as the bartender placed a napkin in front of him soon to be drenched by an ice-cold glass of the pale amber liquid.

"Enjoy," muttered the bartender.

Dean picked up the glass, lips moistening as the bitter smell assaulted his nose. Another grand perk about being topside. Hell had no beer. Or pie. He was about to ask the tender the routine questions when he saw the man's attention was over his shoulder.

"You still here?" grumbled the old man.

A dark-haired woman sat herself two stools to Dean's left. "The usual."

The bartender shook his head as he filled a glass with water. "No offense Ms. Trant, but shouldn't your brother be here by now. It's been almost a week."

Alexie laughed lightly as she ran a slim finger over the rim of the glass. "He's busy at the moment. Don't worry; he'll be here by tomorrow at the earliest."

The bartender sighed, walking off to go restock the liquor cabinet. Dean shifted on his stool taking in the woman hunter. Still in her same clothes, Alexie felt Dean's stare, tilting her head slightly to fix her dark eyes back at him.

"Something on your mind?"

Propping on elbow on the bar, Dean scoffed as he took in the exotic face. She was the one and only Alexie Trent that Bobby wanted to make sure was alright. Eyes scanning up and down, Dean was all up for making a more thorough check back at the motel room.

"Name's Dean Winchester." Smirking, he waited for the adoration of his name but Alexie's face scrunched up as if trying to pinpoint his name.

"Winchester?" Alexie leaned forward, conducting her own survey. Briefly, her eyes paused at Dean's shoulder were underneath all the layers was the burning red handprint of an angel. Blinking, she pulled back raising the glass to her lips. "I've heard about you. I'm Alexie Trant."

Dean nodded, feeling a bit under comfortable at the scrutiny. He never was one to be under a piercing stare until Castiel showed up. Even then, he was just getting used to the penetrating gazes of Cas.

"Yeah." Alexie's soft voice pierced through his thoughts. Taking a sip of water, she smiled to herself. "The one and only Dean Winchester."

Dean scooted over, taking his drink with him. "Don't wear it out." Arms crossed on the bar, he took in the fellow hunter. Her slim figure didn't look like she was much of a threat but underneath the clothing he spotted where a knife was tucked into her pocket and a gun hidden on the small of her back. And, he could make out the lean muscles as Alexie lowered her glass. "Bobby Singer is worried about you. You should call him and tell him you're alright."

Gazing up at the wall of liquor bottles, Alexie's smile disappeared into a neutral façade. "Singer…I should, shouldn't I." Licking her lips, she sent a knowing glance at the man. "But I lost my cellphone and with it his phone number. Maybe you can give him a ring for me."

Dean shrugged, "Sure no problem." A typical person would let her borrow the phone, but Dean did not want anyone hacking into his phone or getting his number. He already had too many people on his tail.

"What brings you to town?"

"Ghost. You?"

"I'm leavin actually."

Surprise tugged at Dean's face. "Oh?"

Alexie nodded, fixing her dark eyes onto Dean. "I ran into a demon two days back. Took me till late yesterday to exorcise the smoky pain in the butt."

Dean chuckled over the rim of his glass. "Demons are like slivers aren't they."

"Yep." Brushing back a strand of hair, she lowered her voice. "The thing is that the demon talked about some hot-shot coming straight for this town."

A shiver ran down Dean's back. Eyes hardened, Dean stilled himself as Alexie continued onwards. "White-eyed and supposedly the leader of the demons as of right now. I'm good, but not that good to take on a powerful demon."

"Did he give a name," whispered the Winchester, dread pooling in his stomach.

"Lilith kinda like the flower," vibrated in the air. Sensing Dean's discomfort, Alexie raised her eyes, concern flashing in their depths. "Something wrong?"

The stern face that turned towards her startled the hunter. The playful banter had all but disappeared into a harsh business façade. "You one-hundred percent positive that this demon wasn't lying?"

Caution flooded the girl's face as she braced herself against the low growl. "I checked into it. There have been animal deaths and electrical storms spotted all around the county."

The growl that passed through Dean's lips was unnatural, almost animalistic. Turning, Dean hunched over the bar, the beer glass cupped between his hands. His eyes drilled onto a spot across from them between the Schnapps and the Vodka. Turning her back to the door, Alexie watched as her fellow hunter mulled over the information. Frustration was boiling underneath the black jacket but years of experience was freezing his body to the stool.

"Everything…ok?"

"No," Dean growled out.

Sighing, Alexie's shoulders dropped in surrender. "Clearly you have a history with this Lilith, so just be careful. Get out the hell of out Dodge while you can." Flipping a few dollar bills onto the table to cover both the water and beer, Alexie slid off the stool. "Good luck hunting the ghost."

With nothing left to say, Alexie turned and walked out of the bar. Dean continued to mull over his beer, sipping at it once in a while loosing himself in his mind. Lilith was coming to town. He didn't know when or how she would like, but the mere fact she was coming was enough for him. His body tensed with the memory of her hugging him, beaming a white smile up at him matching her pearl eyes. And her laughter, so light and child-like like the girl she possessed.

His mind raced to find solutions in avoiding the pompous female. He wasn't ready to face her, even with the tattoos almost totally gone. She was beyond his pay-grade. Not to mention one look and she might spot him, the real him.

Throwing back his head, Dean let the remaining beer fill his mouth. He spotted the clock at the far end, noting that it was close to nighttime and he had been here for more than two hours. Lowering his glass, Dean was about to swallow when his name was whispered softly by his ear.

"Dean."

Jerking forward, the beer flew out of his mouth splattering against the wood. Coughing, Dean whipped his mouth eyes narrowing into slits as he took in the man standing next to him. "That does it Cas! You need a-"

Castiel remained impassive, growing accustomed to Dean's rants. "We need to talk." With that he gripped Dean's arm, above where his handprint was and in flash of light they were standing in a small motel room.

"What the hell?" The loud thud of a mug against the cement carpeted floor pulled Dean from his daze. One minute he was sitting in the bar. Now he was blinking away black dots spotting Sam bending down to gather up the pieces of the cheap mug all the while cursing about people popping out of nowhere.

The instigator broke his hold on Dean taking a few steps back till the brothers were in his vision. Swallowing, he waited patiently as Sam went to throw away the ceramic pieces while collecting towels to soak up the coffee. Tilting his head in slight curiosity of the motions, Castiel fixated his stare on his charge.

Dean appeared to be in good health, the haunting expression still present in his eyes but no longer dominate on his face. The black bags were gone making him sigh with relief that Dean was getting a good night's rest. Stretching out with his senses, the angel touched out onto Dean's soul. He saw familiar anger and suffering that was with the hunter since he clawed his way out of the grave.

A black shimmer shadowed on the edge of his vision. Turning his senses to investigate, Castiel blinked jerking his head slightly backwards finding himself back in the room. Dean was standing in front of him, waving his hand back and forth.

"Hello? You in there Cas?"

Cas nodded, pushing away his shock. "I am here."

Dean gave a curt nod. "Good, then tell us what happened in Iron River?"

Blue eyes focused on the carpet, trying to hide the dread that filled him. "It was." Castiel paused, mind searching for the right words, "a battle, nothing more." There, the truth but not the whole truth. He was safe for the time being.

Sam's black boots filled his vision. "What about the locals?" came the accusatory tone.

Lifting his eyes, Castiel took in the two pairs of eyes zeroed in on him. "They are at peace."

Righteous anger burst onto Sam's face. His large frame shaking, the younger Winchester's arms flew into the air. "Peace?" Teeth grinded against each other as Sam fought the urge to punch Castiel in the face. His demon blood sang to see the angel bleed. "I think you meant to say you destroyed a whole town, killing innocent people-"

Castiel's stoic face hardened, "There were no more innocent people there, Sam. They were either possessed or killed by the demons long before we arrived."

Dean watched quietly from the sidelines between the inferno and the glacier that was Sam and Castiel. Well, this was an interesting development mused Dean's other self. Oh, he had sensed Castiel's little intrusion and holding up to their namesake, the angel wards had repelled any future searching. But this was where the real drama was.

"They were still people!" roared Sam, his face taunt. Dean frowned, recognizing the tense posture from the many times Sam and their Dad had butted heads.

"We do not have time to discuss this." Castiel's blue eyes hardened into sapphires. He had saved Sam's life back in Iron River yet this was his reward. To be ridiculed? Getting it from Dean was excepted but now from Sam, Castiel all of a sudden felt extremely tired. The Winchesters were making him feel his age and that was not a good thing.

"Cas is right."

Dean's soft voice silenced the other two occupants in the room. Both turned to eye him at the same time. Sam sighed with exasperation, placing his hands on his hips. He knew acting like a spoiled brat, but the boiling in his blood at the mere sight of the angel was driving him insane. He burned with curiosity to find out what Cas and Meg had to talk about.

On the other hand, Castiel stared at Dean with a shimmer of gratitude. His frustration faded away in the slumping of his shoulders. Blinking, his head moved to nod in agreement when his body froze. Something ominous hovered in those green orbs as Dean fixed his eyes on Sam, a warning blaring loudly. A flash of Dean's bloody soul glaring up at him with black eyes at their first encountered blinded him.

"We don't have time to argue." Feeling that Sam got the message to shut up, Dean focused on Castiel. The angel was lost to the world again. "Cas."

Blinking slowly, the otherworldly creature returned to the present. "Yes?"

Shaking his head, Dean pressed forward. "What happened to Meg?"

"She will no longer be a threat to you."

Relief swelled in Dean. One mortal enemy gone; another one to deal with. As he opened his mouth, Sam's voice snapped out. "What where you two talking about?"

Throwing his arms into the air this time, Dean flipped himself onto the bed. Bouncing up and down, he scanned the room trying to spot the hex bags. There were none. Castiel bowing his head to divert eye contact caught Dean's attention. The angel only did that move when he felt unsure or was hiding something. He couldn't help but laugh on the inside. He was hanging around the angel too much.

"We did not talk."

"Well when I left it sure didn't seem like a lot of fighting was going on." Sam shot Dean a pleading look, trying to make him help him in uncovering the truth. Yet Dean just rolled his eyes, telling him he was alone in this arguement. "I just want to know what we are up against."

"You do."

"Sam, drop it, ok." Dean pointed at the angel, "Trust me, Cas is as stubborn as you or me when he makes up his mind."

Sam shook his head, "No. I want to know everything. I'm tired of being yanked back and forth. For starters, I want to know which seal was broken."

Dread dumped an ice-cold bucket over Dean. Dying plants filled his mind making the water freeze over him. She was near. She had to be. But maybe it was just some fluke in the weather. Heck, maybe it was Lilith. Paranoia was making him see things, Dean hoped.

"It is none of your concern," growled out Castiel, his voice rumbling deeply in the air. Instinctually, Dean felt himself lean away from the angel. It was the kitchen scene all over again. Castiel's warning of throwing him back in the Pit vibrated in his head.

Yet Sam was not discouraged. Taking a step forward, he met the angel's stoic frame. "Look, I'm grateful you saved me from Meg. But I didn't need help. And whatever seal it was, it must be big cause it drew her out of hiding and it was spotted over in California a few months back."

Castiel soaked in Sam' argument not expecting him to link the seal in Iron River to the one in California. Clearly, he had underestimated the hunter's talent in research. Gazing down at Dean, he sensed a plea echoing in his charge's head. Forehead frowning, Castiel felt a part of him wanting to reveal the information about Her while another wanted to explore this small change in the human. But this was not the time or place. He had come to warn them about another trouble.

"Lilith is coming."

Sam's shout, "What?" filled the room.

Yet it was Dean's silence that screamed the loudest. Tilting his head to the side, Castiel watched as Dean lifted his eyes to match his stare. Sad confirmation reflected off of them.

The angel's lips parted, whispering, "You knew."

Sam jerked his head so fast to Dean that his neck ached in protest. "What is Cas talking about Dean?"

Dean took a deep breath as he pushed himself slowly off the bed with an unseen weight. "I ran into Alexie Trant earlier today at the bar."

"Bobby's friend?"

"Yeah. She said she heard from a demon she exorcised that Lilith was coming to town."

Eagerness lit Sam's face. Lilith was coming here, coming to him. Licking his lips, he ran a hand through his shaggy hair. "When? Where?"

Castiel gazed at Sam, curiosity trying to understand the reaction. Dean scowled, not liking this killing-hungry version of his brother. "How the hell am I suppose to know?"

Sam grinned at Dean, lost in the adrenaline that now pumped in his veins. "Dean, you know what this means?"

"Enlighten me." spoke his brother.

"It means we can finish this. I can finally kill Lilith and you don't have to worry about any more seals breaking."

Sam stopped, trying to ease his breathing. Before him, Castiel stood quietly with an impassive expression as always. Dean, though, gazed incredulously as if he had sprouted a new head.

"Are you insane?" spilled forth from Dean's lips with trepidation.

Straightening his shoulders, Sam let his confidence flow off of him. "I can do this Dean."

Shock collapsed into irritation. Marching forward, Dean spat into Sam's face. "No you can't. We're booking it Sam."

"Yes I can! Dean, please you gotta-"

"I said no! We're not ready to face Lilith. We've got no plan, no idea of how many demons she's got with her. All I know is that we've got you and your freaky Force powers, Castiel who really can't fight," Dean shot over his shoulder, "No offense and me with the knife."

Sam let his eyes widen, pleading with his brother. "But I'm stronger now, Dean."

"You're not usuing your powers Sam. How many times do I have to tell you? The angels don't want you doing it Sam. They even attached with a death threat."

"You don't understand-"

"Then make me understand why you have this obsession using them. Before Hell, you were against it, but now..."

Annoyance built Sam's voice louder and louder. "I've changed Dean. My powers save people. I could have sent Meg back so she wouldn't bother us anymore. Hell, I took out-" Fear froze the name of Alastair on his lips. He couldn't let Dean know the truth of what happened to the white-eyed demon, not with Castiel in the room. More importantly, Sam didn't want to know how his older brother would look at him, stare at him as if he was a monster.

A snarl darkened Dean's face. "Took out who?"

Deflating, Sam muttered, "Nothing."

As if drawing strength from Sam, Dean rose before his little brother. "Exactly my point. Now, getting your things together. We're leaving."

Shoulders slumped; the younger Winchester shook his head stubbornly. "No."

Tilting his head, Dean leaned forward. "What did you say? I don't think I heard you."

Sam glared hatefully at his brother. "I said no. I'm staying and there's nothing you can do."

Dean met the heated glared with his own. The atmosphere grew dark and heavy as sparks flew between the brothers. One wanted to slay the snake, chop off her head and show it to the world. Damn the consequences. The other wanted to run away, fight this battle another day on grounds he felt more comfortable with.

"Fine," hissed Dean through clenched teeth, "Have it your way. Just don't come crying home to me when you get your butt whopped by a ten year old girl."

Turning, Dean marched away, threw open the door and slammed it shut with enough force to rattle the light fixture hanging from the ceiling. Sighing, brown eyes shot to take in the quiet member in the room.

"What?" snapped Sam.

Castiel stared at him with soul-piercing eyes for a few seconds longer before vanishing away in a blink of an eye. Letting himself smirk at the small victory, Sam walked over to his bag. He needed to get ready for Lilith.

------------

Outside, Dean paced in the parking lot hands stuffed deep in his pockets. The urge to punch Sam, knock him out and throw him in the Impala was overpowering. Things were spiraling out of his control and he hated it. Hated how despite everything, he knew he couldn't live up to his threat. The minute Sam would be in danger; he'd spring back into that room and save his little brother despite the repercussions.

He was a big brother. Even Hell's fires couldn't change that. Halting, he kicked a large stone sending it flying into a random car. Where was a cheap, low-level demon when you needed it?

The soft flapping of wings whipped the wind to lightly tug at his jacket. Sighing away his frustration, Dean let himself unravel slightly. Turning, he gazed upon the trench-coat clad angel. "What is it?"

Castiel stood quietly off to the side, hands tucked away into pockets. Taking a step off of the sidewalk and onto the pavement, he joined Dean in the faint blue glow of a moth lamp. "Why didn't you tell him you knew about Alastair?" the questioning tone forced Dean to smirk.

Shrugging, Dean realized that he didn't have an answer. "It wasn't a good time. Besides, Sam might get jealous that you and I have been hanging out together."

"Hm," Narrowing his eyes, Castiel nodded briefly, his black ruffle hair blending into the night. "You care much for your brother. You would do protect him at all costs, even if he is beyond saving."

"Wow, little slow on the uptake there Cas?" joked Dean, hiding the cringe at how true those words were. He would and did do everything to save Sam, except one. But he might as well cross that one off his list too.

Halting a mere step away, the angel disregarded Dean's sentenced. What he would say next needed to be worded carefully. And he only hoped Dean understand what he was getting at. "You are right in that Sam is not powerful enough to face Lilith. She is stronger than Alastair."

Dean rolled his green eyes. "Tell me something I don't know."

Castiel lowered his head till his blue eyes bore into green. Seriousness wrote itself all over his face. "She is a threat, something beyond my caliber."

Suspicion flashed on the hunter. Shifting, he gazed upon the angel tossing the words in his head. "That sucks," he said slowly, unsure where this conversation was going.

"You must understand something Dean. In our relationship, you are my charge and a very important one at that."

"Righteous man, I got it."

"You are the only one that can stop the Apocalypse and prevent Lucifer from rising."

Confusion rang through Dean. What was Castiel getting at? Really, the angel's vague manner of talking was becoming ridiculous and frustrating. "You don't need to remind me. I'm important I-"

Like a switch being flipped, realization dawned. Dean fought to keep his face neutral but his green eyes shone with excitement like a child figuring out a difficult math problem. Blue eyes shone with acknowledgement as they quickly scanned the sky as if making sure that the coast was clear.

Dean wanted to grin and pat Castiel on the back. Who would have guessed that his angel was a sneaky little bugger? "So if a major threat, something beyond your caliber came after me, what would happen?"

"Heaven's most powerful weapon will rain down upon that threat," responded Castiel, breaking the elation of the moment, "It will only happen once, but if you are in a life and death situation where you cannot save yourself or be saved, an archangel will appear."

"Really?" Wonder laced the word. In a flash, Dean swore he saw a ghost of a smirk tug at Castiel's lips.

"I don't know but you are the righteous man, Dean. Nothing is impossible, but be warned, archangels are fierce and absolute. Anything resembling a threat…anything demonic at all that threatens who you are will be annihilated."

Nodding softly, Dean let a small smile of gratitude loose. "Thanks Cas."

With a brisk nod, Castiel replied. "Good luck." In that, the flapping of wings marked the angel's departed.

Standing alone in the parking lot, Dean mulled over the last tidbit of information Castiel had left him with.

Annihilation. Anything demonic. A threat to what he was: the righteous man.

Huffing out a laugh, Dean scratched his head. It was going to be suicidal at the most. Meeting Lilith was a big risk, but pushing her away with an archangel? He would be in the clear once more. Sure, Dean mused that he could kill her yet his instincts cringed at the thought. No Lilith couldn't die, not by his hands or Sammy's. The only true concern was if he would survive the archangel's attack.

"God, I missed being in the hotseat," mused Dean, "Playing it close to the chest as always and lovin every moment of it."

-----------------------------------------

A/N: And there ya guys have it! Another chapter as the drama unfolds. Take care!


	16. Chapter 16

A/N: That's it, I need help. I'm getting Supernatural deprived here. I staying away from spoilers for season 5, but at the same time I want to see at least a pic. Any pic, really will do. Please Kripke. Just one tiny tease. And until that day comes, I can only satisfy myself by writing.

Oh, and heads up. A tiny, tiny part of this chapter is a little graphic. Not too bad, but just wanted to warn you guys.

**Playing in Traffic**

Sam sat on the bed, his foot tapping impatiently against the base board. In his hands, fingers ran over Ruby's knife, feeling each groove and engraving. His heart was thumping hard against his chest and the empty flask tucked in his coat pocket. Lips itched to fly into a grin as dark hazel eyes flickered black as they stared at the door.

He was ready.

If Dean didn't want to believe him, then Sam would show his stubborn brother. Dean always preferred proof, actual evidence for him to see. Yellow light spilled through the curtains, casting long shadows throughout the room. The humming of the car passing by filled the silence. Blinking, Sam felt the room plunge back into stillness letting it soak into him till there was nothing but his yearning to kill.

"You've grown Sam."

A woman's voice purred quietly at his right. Suppressing his surprise, the lone Winchester turned his head. Before him, sitting on the corner of the other bed, legs crossed wearing a simple little black dress was a blond woman. Curls falling over her slim shoulders, she beamed a wide smile as her eyes rolled into white.

Curling his lip, Sam Winchester exuded confidence with a tinge of arrogance. "Lilith. What a surprise."

Blinking her eyes back to dark blue, Lilith leaned back, propping herself by the elbows. "Don't act all shocked, Sam. You might pull something."

Rising onto his feet, Sam took measured steps towards the demon, turning so his back was to the door. He watched quietly as her heeled shoes skittered around the small square green carpet between the beds. "Why are you here?"

Lilith tilted her head up at him. "I want to talk before things get out of hand."

A dead expression fell on the hunter's face. "Really."

"Yes," Sliding upright, the demon stood leaning into Sam's large frame, not breaking her gaze. "Scout's honor," she purred, raising her hand to cross her fingers. Lilith knew very well that despite her child-like nature, she had to play the 'seductive woman' approach to get Sam Winchester to listen. "So can we talk?"

Dark hair shadowed Sam's eyes as he glanced behind her. Tension thrummed with power between the two. Then a sly smile widened itself across the chiseled face. "Fine, let's talk."

Sam took a shuffle of step forward to push Lilith towards the carpet. The demon raised her foot to take the step but then at the last second, she turned and flipped an edge of the carpet over to reveal the devil's trap underneath.

With a tsk, Lilith scratched a line through the symbol with her heel. "With this out of the way," twisting her body to step off to Sam's left, Lilith pointed at his back. "One more thing, Sam sweetie."

Sam bristled with indignant rage as his hand carefully removed Ruby's knife from his back. Tossing the weapon onto the carpet between them, he remained towering over Lilith enjoying her submissive posture. "Happy now?"

Lilith wanted to say no, that she missed and wanted Dean back. But saying such words would not be in her favor. Sighing, she crossed her legs at the ankle, "Yes." Licking her lips, she uttered forth pure sincerity onto her meat-suit's face. "I want to talk about a peace treaty."

---------------------

Dean threw in the last bag of rock salt into the trunk. Three bags of the stuff plus a couple gallons of water and a four cans of spray paoint should be enough to trap Lilith or at least hold her back till the archangel showed up. Satisfied, he slammed the trunk shut glancing around the parking lot stopping to take in the closing grocery store. Dusting his hands clean, the hunter shifted to make his way to the driver's seat when his back slammed into the tail.

Grunting, Dean glared up at his assailant. The massive man had a full-beard and raggedy hair. His six-foot four frame's meaty hand smashed into his right temple splitting his skin. Stars blasting before his eyes, Dean's head thrummed in pain as blood ran down his face.

The man burst out laughing as he drove his fist in for another blow sending Dean crashing onto his knees. "Distracting you is gonna be so much fun!"

Dean felt the shift above him as the possessed man drew back his body for another hit. In that moment, Dean's skilled fingers drew out his bowing knife. Twisting in crouch, he slashed fast and deep across the man's stomach. An acidic retched smell exploded in the crisp night air. Burning decay flooded Dean's senses manifesting itself in a tiny smirk. He knew that smell all to well, drowning in it everyday till it soaked past his pores.

Springing to his feet, Dean tucked his body over the fallen trucker's body. The demon's pitch eyes were wide, not believing that the mass of flesh coming out of him was supposed to remain inside. Posed behind, Dean drove the knife through the back of the man's neck embedding it deep. The large body fell forward like a giant redwood blooding spreading across the pavement. With the metal blade cutting off a clear passage way through the man's throat, the demon was trapped inside.

Panting slightly, Dean bent forward keeping both hands on the handle. "Exorcizamus te, omnis immundus spiritus..." The exorcism flew with ease past Dean's lips. He never told anyone, but after his stalemate with the one demon down in the cellar, Dean forced himself to memorize the ritual.

Underneath him, the demon struggled trying to break free. But the hunter wouldn't allow any of it. He couldn't chance the demon ringing the alarm before he had a chance to rescue his stubborn little brother.

"Et fortitudinem plebi Suae. Benedictus Deus. Gloria Patri." The final words arched the demon's back. With a powerful yank, Dean drew the knife free allowing smoke to roar out of the man's mouth. Pooling overhead, the smoke withered and crackled with energy. Sizzling died out as the smoke screeched, slamming into the pavement where Hell's fires welcomed its' escaped resident back home.

Stepping back, Dean wiped the blade clean on the man's gray shirt. Glancing around, he frowned at the barren lot. "Always thinkin' ahead, Dean." Running a hand over his face, the hunter pushed his mind of a way to dispose of the body. But time was running out. And there were no options. He could burn the body but that would cause too much attention. Dragging the body was a no for the dumpster was too far away and he would leave fingerprints. And placing the body in his baby was out of the question.

"Screw it," snapped Dean. Tucking his knife away, he marched back up to the closed grocery store. By now, the doors were locked but that was solved in less than five seconds. Sneaking inside, he quickly made his way to the office and picked the lock. Stepping into the dark room, Dean spotted the surveillance tapes. Ejecting three tapes from the parking lot cameras, the older Winchester grabbed the evidence and bolted back out of the store.

Tossing the black boxes onto the passenger seat, Dean roared the Impala to life and floored the gas pedal leaving the corpse lying open for all to see.

--------------------------------

Sam burst out laughing, flopping on the bed's edge opposite of Lilith but closer to the knife. "A peace treaty?"

Lilith didn't hold back her frown, irritation flashing white. "Yes. It seems I don't get to attend the big welcome back party. It kinda hurts a girl's feelings, knowing that despite everything she does, she's not invited."

"Poor you," joked Sam, his voice full of sarcasm.

"I don't want your pity."

"Then what do you want?"

A sinister smile tainted the young face of the woman. "I'll stop breaking the seals."

Sam leaned forward. Lilith's declaration rattled in his mind. Did she truly mean what she just said? For if she did, then there would be no Apocalypse, no angels forcing Dean to do things his older didn't want to do. They could finally be left alone. Hope flared deeply in his chest. Yet logic kept it in check noting to him just exactly who he was dealing with. Smugness glinted in his eyes. "What's the catch?"

Lilith shrugged, flicking her fingernail. "Dean and your heads on a spike."

Sam's face twitched as his hands fidgeted against his lap. "No."

"Are you really that arrogant? Would you put your life before six billion?" Lilith scoffed, "Have you been drinking so much demon blood that you're one of us now?"

The man leapt to his feet, she rising shortly after. Sam's hazel eyes glared down at her small frame. "I am nothing like you," strained the deep voice.

"Then prove it," purred Lilith. "It's a deal and one I can't break." She saw the flicker of hesitation and pounced on it. "You can end it all tonight Sam."

"I-"

The hotel door flew open, slamming into the wall. Dean ran in with his sawduff shotgun, eyes locking on the pair. "Sam!"

Instincts ingrained the pair flew into action. Sam ducked down to the carpet, grabbing the knife. Lilith sidestepped into the open floor, reaching out and taking a hold of Dean. With a flick of her wrist, she pinned the older Winchester hard against the wall. Dean gasped loudly as the air rushed out of his lungs. His head rang loudly in his mind while a foreign presence squeezed down upon him. Oh this was gonna be fun, but at least Lilith was falling into his rapidly forming plan. He heard the two chattering about something outside the door and knew that setting up the traps was out of the question. So he did the next best thing. Improvised.

Sam's teeth flashed deadly in the light, his fingers curling into a death grip around Ruby's knife. "Let Dean go."

Lilith shook her blond curls, "No can do, Sam. Let's try this again shall we. If you won't do it for six billion innocent people, then how about for your brother?" The white-eyed demon tightened her hold, clawing her way into Dean's chest. A painful groan echoed off to her side making her eyes flutter with pleasure. Oh, how she missed that sound.

Disgusted with defeat and her reaction to Dean's pain, Sam's shoulders sagged as the knife clattered out of his hand. "Fine."

Grinning with a Cheshire cat grin, Lilith narrowed her eyes in glee. "Oh and Sam, it's going to take more than just a kiss to seal this deal."

Despair radiated off this man who posed such a threat to her. It was sad though, how easily the mighty would fall when it came to family. Speaking of family, Lilith tilted her head slightly taking in Dean's strained form. A small trickle of blood dripped out of the corner of his mouth. The gun fell with a clatter next to his feet. She yearned to be in the body of a small child, to see the pure terror on this hunter's face and run her fingers over his body drinking up his agonized haunted soul.

"Sorry Dean, but you can't watch." Arm outstretched, fingers lowering into claws, Lilith tore into Dean's soul ready to slam the man into permanent unconsciousness. She only promised to keep Dean alive, but that didn't mean he had to be awake for it. Then with Sam under her thumb, she would drag Dean back to the Pit carrying him by the leg much like a little girl dragging her favorite teddy bear.

Sinking deeper into the one soul that had got away, white-eyes shot open. Without realizing it, she took a step backwards, her hold faltering for a second. "You've got to be kidding…"

Her words were cut off when the room began to rattle, blinding light spilling from the windows. Pinned to the wall, Dean paused in his wrestling against Lilith. Green eyes boiled in rage as he watched her stare at him with shock. As the sounds of a freight train howled around the pair, Dean fought to keep his calm together, yelling, "You've got about ten seconds before this room is full of wrath and you're a piece of charcoal. So do you want to tangle with that?"

The hunter drove home the point by keeping his eyes locked onto Lilith daring her to call his bluff. Deep inside, he felt his soul resettle itself as tiny golden sparks began to rain down onto him, sizzling his tainted self.

Mind racing, Lilith sneered as she threw down her hand, releasing Dean. Turning, she glared at Sam. "You'll regret this."

Sam sprinted forward, arm raised to ram the knife into her chest. Yet, the blond head flung backwards, a black stream of bellowing into the air before flying into the night sky through the ruined door. The room continued to rattle, the light becoming brighter and brighter.

Dean crouched into a huddle, tucking his head against his chest covering himself with his arms. Eyes squeezed shut; he threw himself over his demonic soul forcing himself to think of how he used to be before the conversion. He thought of his despair and weariness. He thought of the devotion and love to his family. He thought of righteousness anger towards anything evil harming the innocent.

He prayed.

Then as soon as it began, the rumbling ceased. Breathing heavily, Dean counted to ten before hesitantly raising his head. The natural dark blue and black of night covered the windows while the chirping of crickets filled the air.

Rising to his feet, Dean glanced at his brother who stood in the room bewilderment shining off of his face. Sam looked slightly rumbled but otherwise there seemed to be no physical harm done.

"What the hell just happened?" whispered Sam, afraid that if he spoke any louder would mark the return of the archangel.

"An archangel just happened," whispered back Dean. "Can we go now?"

Sam nodded numbly.

Dean sighed, tugging his jacket to shack off the dust. His eyes fell to the blond woman, Sam following suit. Fallin on one knee, Sam laid two fingers gently against the pale throat shaking his head sadly when he felt no pulse.

"We'll phone the cops and they'll take care of her." Grabbing his gun, Dean marched to the Impala, Sam right behind. The two didn't mention a word till they were well past the city.

Turning down the radio, Dean spared a glance at Sam, who stared studiously out in front of him. "What deal was Lilith talking about?"

"She wanted to call the whole thing off in exchange for our heads."

"And you didn't think about taking it?"

Sam's eyes darted to the right, "She would have found a way out of it." A pause, before he spoke in a lower voice. "Besides, that's not the point."

"Oh?" Uncertainty filled Dean. He had seen the shock on Lilith's face the moment her molten fingers brushed against angel-proof house. He saw the suspicion tug at the corner of her white-eyes.

"She's scared," whispered Sam. His back straightened as he remembered Lilith's poor attempts to seduce him. Then when she had pinned Dean to the wall and the archangel arriving… "And now she's running."

"Why run?" Dean surpassed the urge to sigh with relief. Sam's obsession with Lilith was making him blind to Dean.

Sam shrugged as he fought to keep his face still. "Don't really care, but I know one thing."

"...What?…"

Giddiness vibrated through Sam's tone. "She's not gonna survive the apocalypse. I'll make sure of that"

Dean couldn't hide how scared he was when those words passed through his little brother's lips. The hunger to see Lilith dead was so thick that he could have sliced through it with a razor. Was this a glimpse of the true Sam behind all the lies? Was this the monster his brother was becoming? Did he yearn for Lilith like those demons yearned to torture with a frenzy?

"Dean."

Sam's voice had returned back to the inquisitive nature common with him. Dean remained focused on the road. "Yeah?"

"Why was Lilith shocked when she had you pinned?"

Dean let out a small chuckle, "Guess I'm just so awesome."

Sam's brow furrowed, irritation laced in his tone, "Dean."

Shrugging, Dean lightly tapped at the wheel. "Got me. I guess she was surprised that I had an archangel tethered to me."

"Why is that?"

"Cas said it has to do with me being the only one to end the Apocalypse. But don't get used to it. It was a one-time deal."

Sam sank deep in the chair, "Then why bother having an archangel tied to you if it's just for one time?"

Glancing at his brother, Dean lightly smacked Sam against his upper arm. "Cause they know we can watch out for each other. We don't need any angelic help, I get enough of it from Cas."

Sam sighed deeply. His hazel eyes drawn to the window. "I guess." The lost voice signaled the end of the conversation.

Licking his lips lightly, Dean focused back onto the road before them. That was too close too comfort. Shifting, he felt the small burns his soul had gained during the brief interlude. Rage trickled in rivulets, soothing each dark batch. He would need to heal but considering the situation, it wasn't too bad. Lady Luck had been with him tonight…except…

White-eyes flashed before him. Lilith knew. And that spelled trouble for him in the future. He would have to be on constant guard now. Oh, Dean knew that Lilith would have sent him back to the Pit with or without the deal. Terror nipped at his fingers as he felt Lilith's form curling over his.

Sliding his eyes to the left, Dean glanced out into the night. If he survived an archangel, then he as hell could outrun Lilith. He did once, he would do it again.

-------------------------

Castiel sat quietly in a wooden peer. All around him, painted drawings of angels, saints and other biblical figures emitted the glory of God. Before him, the small but elaborate stone altar drew the attention of the faithful to the cross that hung with a sacred presence in the ill-lit church.

Leaning back, the aged wood creaked loudly in the church. He and a few others had finished vanquishing a few demons who were gathering certain items to break another seal. The battle had been short and victorious but draining all the same.

Closing his eyes, the angel allowed the quietness fill his core, the smell of food from a restaurant in the small Germanic town enveloping him with warmth. Healing his vessel's wounds and his own soul, Castiel basked in the utter purity of his grace.

A sharp creak shattered the illusion. Blue eyes opened, greeted by plump figures with white wings, sitting on fluffy wings. Amusement made Castiel snort softly. Truly, where did humans come up with such imagery? It insulted him at first, but now the image only made him appreciate the mortals even more. They are creative and very skilled with a brush. Many a beautiful works of art shone with such perfection that Castiel could swear that his Father's presence was behind those skilled fingers.

"Castiel," a woman's voice full of power and wisdom pulled him from his thoughts.

Straightening, he reorganized his coat over his legs before glancing up at the angel next to him. The woman did not have a vessel, her true visage hidden behind an illusion of a white haired girl wearing a simple tan robe. Flickering in and out before him, Castiel lowered his head in respect, blue eyes peering up with caution upon the blazing gold irises.

"Archangel Sealtiel, it's an honor," spoke Castiel with utmost reverence. It was rare for a mere low-level angel such as himself to see one of God's ultimate weapons.

The Intercessor shifted her lean wings ruffling into a more comfortable position. "I had to rescue Dean Winchester tonight."

Concern pulled at him. "Is he alright?"

"Yes." The word seemed to rain upon his ears from each direction. "His soul was almost dragged back to Hell by Lilith."

Worry froze blue eyes. A part of Castiel wanted to fly off and check on his charge, while another wanted to track down the white-eyed demon. He did not want to know what would happen if Dean was forced back into the Pit. Already despair resurfaced, tugging him down a dark path as he remembered Dean's broken voice from the hospital loud and clear.

"_I can't do it, Cas…It's too big_."

A small hand laid itself gently on Castiel's own. Glancing up, blue eyes shone with sadness. Sealtiel smiled with an innocence only a child could muster but exude wisdom of a creature centuries years old.

"Your love for the hunter is admiral, Castiel. No matter what the others say, this relationship is a precious thing."

Warmth spread out from the hand filling Castiel with certainty. He had an archangel's blessings. Lips parted to thank her but he halted when he spotted the glint of dread. "What is it?"

Blinking slowly, the archangel remained silent choosing the best way to answer the question. "Darkness remained when I arrived."

"Lilith."

Sealtiel locked her golden orbs onto blue, "She had already fled."

Confusion furrowed Castiel's face, "Sam Winchester?" He sent a quick prayer that Dean's brother had not fallen so far already that the angels were done waiting and were going to take him out. He could imagine Dean's hurt from the betrayal that would result from Sam's death. Their friendship would be shattered beyond repair and all would be lost.

"No."

Relief released a sigh that Castiel did not know he was hiding. "Then…"

"It was faint, a mere shadow off in the corner." The young flawless face flickered into a face with eyes radiating sorrow. "It was coming from Dean."

Castiel glanced down onto the small hymnals before them, "Dean has been through a lot…darkness is...expected from him…"

"It was demonic."

Then angel shot his head upwards, blue eyes flashing a darker shade in warning. "No. I tore away the part of Dean that was demonic. It is still in Hell. There is no way..."

Sealtiel sat quietly absorbing her brother's disbelief and outrage that such a notion was possible. Voice full of understanding, she replied gently. "I hope you are right, brother. But I only came to warn you of this. I know you told Dean about me and why. I will not report this violation to your supervisors."

"Thank you," whispered back Castiel, bowing his head. For once he was grateful that the archangels operated in a different sect far apart from his garrison. The best way to describe would be the Special Forces to the Military. The archangels worked alongside the garrison and would obey orders from Castiel's supervisors. But they could turn down the orders, work outside the law without a supervisor's consent if the need arised.

"Castiel."

The stern voice forced him to remember his mere position before this mighty creature. "Yes."

"You walk a thin line. One misstep and you can lose more than your wings." A shimmer and he felt the hand cup his chin raising his head to look at her. Golden eyes shone with love, compassion and understanding. It seemed almost strange that such a powerful creature could emit such humbleness. "Be careful, little brother."

And in a flicker, Sealtiel vanished back into the heavens leaving Castiel to ponder her warnings.

-------------------------

A pair of black motorcycle boots crunched onto the tiny slivers of wood that littered the purplish carpet. The debris' source was a busted door lock. Halting in the doorway, the tall man sniffed. Dressed in dark blue jeans, with a burgundy thin sweater covered by a faded vest, he scratched idely at the white whiskers that dotted the weathered, chiseled chin.

"You know, I kinda missed that ozone burning smell mixed with a hint of dew." The cracked voice joked lightly, his small pale blue eyes shimmering in merriment. "Hey, you listening, girl?"

"Alexei, for the fifth time." Before him, a young woman glared angrily at him. "About time you showed up…"

Flashing a wide pearly grin, the man scratched at his blond hair streaked with white. "Rick Varmin. Not that hard to remember."

"Whatever." Turning, Alexei eyed the dead body of the blond before her feet. Off to her left, she spotted the red devil's trap partially hidden by the carpet. "I guess Lilith is out of the picture now."

"Wouldn't count on it," Rick stuffed his hands into his pants' pockets walking in three strides up to the smaller hunter. "She's…special. Besides, Lilith's too damn smart to allow herself to be killed."

"Just yet," finished Alexei, sweeping her gaze around the motel room that the Winchesters had occupied a few hours ago. "All three in one room…and all three lived."

Sucking lightly at his teeth, Rick's eyes tugged upwards. "What did you expect? Things are just getting heated up. You wanted part of the action remember."

Alexei sighed, "Yeah."

"Then don't complain." Bumping his shoulder lightly against hers, Rick nudged his head towards the door. "I'm still open-minded. He can prove himself some other time. Now-"

Alexei glanced up at him, her black eyes studying his face. Rick's face bloomed into a murderous joy. "Let's go hunt."

The woman huffed in annoyance as her partner turned to march back to the door. "Really?"

"Yes, really," snapped the older man. "Besides, you've been here too long. I'm surprised you haven't been recognized yet."

"I'm not stupid," muttered Alexei as she followed Rick out of the motel room.

"Right…I highly doubt that."

"Hey, I might not have the body but I can still kick ass."

"Please, women have been saying that for ages. And yet most battles throughout history have been won by men."

The bickering continued till the rumbling of a truck marked the departure of the two missing hunters. Yet unbeknownst to them as it was to the Winchesters, no one spotted the cluster of bushes lining the wall outside of the room. Berry bushes were barren to the world, dead dark brown leaves covering the dried earth where grass once grew earlier that day.

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A/N: And there we go, things are taking a turn. Well it's late and I really should go to bed. So take care! Laters.


	17. Chapter 17

Disclaimer: Don't own Supernatural. It belongs to the villianous genius that is Eric Kripke.

A/N: Oh man, all the stuff that's coming out of Comic Con's panal is just make me more stoked for Season 5. I'm like jumping up and down here. Why can't it be September!!!?!?!?!

**3 Musketeers plus 1**

Balancing on his tiptoes, Sam peered through the tiny window. Outside, sitting on a picnic table, his brother Dean was happily wolfing down a massive burger. Satisfied, the younger Winchester backed away, leaning against the tiled wall of the hallway. In the vacant rest stop with the bathrooms across from him, three vending machines humming a few inches away and with a large sign containing brochures for all the glorious sites in the state, Sam hit speed-dial on his cell phone.

"The one and only Ruby."

Scanning to make sure the coast was clear, Sam coughed lightly. "It's me."

Ruby's exasperated voice responded, "Well duh." Rustling could be heard from the background. "Soooo…what happened up in Iron River?"

"Nothing much, ran into an old demon. Thanks for the heads up on taking care of Meg," sarcasm laced Sam's tone.

"Meg?" confusion ran loudly through the phone. "Who the hell is she?"

Sam's eyes narrowed, "You don't know?"

"No," snapped Ruby, "Should I? Is she like an old flame or something?"

Lips thinning, Sam's mind raced to figure out another reason. "Then why did you send us up there?"

"To meet Her, silly." Ruby's voice sang slightly, stressing the pronoun, "This was a big seal, Sam. Lilith couldn't get her slimy hands on this one."

"Lilith never showed up," muttered Sam.

"Well excuse me that I can't keep up with her twenty-four seven. It's not like I have a GPS on her or something."

Sam bit back a harsh remark building on the tip of his tongue. A loud part of him, what he liked to call the 'Dean' side, was yelling out curses on why he trusts Ruby so much. She had sent them almost to their graves and didn't give him a heads up on Lilith. But just as loudly was a softer spoken voice that mirrored the demon's voice telling him that she had saved him and was making him stronger.

Ignoring her retort, the hunter pressed forward. "But Lilith did try and seduce me a couple nights ago with wanting to stop this war by killing us."

"That witch!" Ruby's upset anger was evident and Sam pictured her small frame already shaking with anger. "Please tell me you just booked it out of there."

"Of course not," Sam felt his voice rise higher and higher, his pride hurt at the thought that he would flee from a fight. "I-"

"Well, at least you didn't take her up on her offer…did you?"

Tilting his head back to rest against the wall, Sam focused up on the pin-picked ceiling. "No, of course not. I want to kill her just as badly, if not more cause she's scared Ruby…scared of me." Something unnatural swelled in him filling every pore with power. Soon, no one would hurt him or his family ever again. Lilith would become the prime warning of why no supernatural being should dare harm the Winchesters.

Ruby's voice lowered itself, vibrating in-sync with the power within him. "Good job, Sammy…"

-----

Outside, Dean swallowed his last piece of the hamburger smacking his lips loudly. Reaching out to finish off the fries, the hunter jumped when a small voice peeped by his side.

"Excuse me."

Dean glared at the little brunette girl standing by him, a little stuffed wolf hanging limply from her hand. Smiling broadly, her freckles stood out against the smooth face. "Can I have a fry, mister?"

Green eyes glanced behind her, taking in the blue car parked by the highway. Inside, he barely made out the parents. Strange, he hadn't heard the car. "Sure," whispered Dean, handing the golden food cautiously to the girl.

Eyes sparkled with utter most joy. Her small fingers scrapped against the fry before curling around his wrist. With one powerful yank a ten year old girl would not possess, Dean found himself flung into a hug.

The small girl burrowed deep against his chest, eyes tilting up at him whiteness locking onto green. "Thank you, Dean."

Dean found himself utterly frozen in the grasp. His throat dried up as he watched the girl give him one tighter squeeze around his waist.

"Oh I've missed you," Lilith mumbled against the layered shirts, "I didn't think it was possible, but Alastair never gave up. He was so determined to get you back."

Reality seemed to crash down onto Dean, spilling over him with ice-cold water. Hands gripping the small shoulders; he threw the child off. "Get the hell off of me!" snarled Dean.

Falling onto her butt, the stuffed animal flying into the dirt, Lilith couldn't help but burst out laughing. This was why she loved possessing girls over women. The reactions from the adults on how a child of such innocence could commit horrendous atrocities never failed to entertain her. "Now there's the Dean I loved so much."

Rising from the seat, Dean reached inside, grasping onto a tiny silver flask holy water swishing inside. Lilith smiled up at him, crossing her legs. "Well let's see how much you love me when I send you back to the Pit."

"I'd love you even more, but I don't think Nicor will like it."

She watched as the blood drained from Dean's face. His hand fell limply to the side relinquishing the flask.

"N-Nicor?"

The curly brown head nodded. "Yes. Alastair's first student is now the Chief Executioner. He's inherited the position after a couple of decades of bloody civil wars." Twirling a curl around her finger, Lilith kept her gaze focused on Dean. "You were Alastair's favorite, Dean. But I don't think that's going to be enough to save you once Nicor solidifies his status and finds the time to get topside and drag your tainted soul back to the Pit."

Battle-worn hands curled into fists trying to suppress the shivers of fear and rage that racked across his body. Dean could still feel Nicor's slimy hands running over him, drowning him over and over again within his own body or things he never wanted to know. Alastair's first pupil always came on the anniversary of Dean's arrival, granted one hour to play while Alastair left to report to the other demons. Hell, he found Dean withering on the intricate web of chains and hooks that the Hellhounds left him on.

Nicor was also the one to remind Dean of how long he had in the Pit. He was the one most curious about Dean's refusal to give in, while Alastair merely relished the challenge. He drowned, or as he said 'baptized' Dean in a pool of black blood reminding him that while he was the favorite, Nicor was the first. And like hell would he have some punk hunter take his spot as rightful heir. And it only got worse when Castiel had raised him, the small demon finding himself pinned to a rack becoming a test subject to a new torture whenever Alastair wasn't watching him. Nicor made Hell ten times worse, rubbing in with his arrogance that Dean was a nobody once again. That Dean was worthless, even as a demon.

Dean shuddered in a deep breath, his neck aching from where Nicor heldl his head down into a tube of acid. "Thanks for the update." The hunter was amazed to find his voice deadly calm while inside a whirlwind trashed against his flesh.

------

Inside, Life laughed at itself in the irony of the whole situation. The Trickster was missing a great show, seeing how Sam was lost in his daydreams on killing the white-eyed demon, when the said villain was outside having a chat with his brother.

"Sam."

The name echoed softly against the pristine room. Sam licked his lips, blinking slowly. "Yeah?"

Ruby paused, her words hesitant as if she didn't want to get her hopes up, "Did you meet her?

Sam's lips quirked as puzzlement settled over him. "Meet who?"

Disappointment hovered out of the phone. "This seal was a big one Sam. It wasn't just some sacrificing mumbo jumbo to break another hold on Lucifer's cage."

Sam sank down onto the floor, legs sprawling out before him. Fear and confusion danced in his eyes but he fought to keep his voice level. "Then what-"

"There are seals that are kinda like safety mechanisms. After a certain number of seals are broken, one of them appears suddenly as if saying 'Are you sure you want to do this?' It's a free for all after that; the angels try to prevent it from being broken while the demons pour everything into opening it."

Urgency filled Sam. In his mind, the dots connected as he saw the two seals in Iron River and Las Vegas lying next to each. One on the West, another in the North…"How many are there?" A part of pleaded that the answer in his head was wrong.

"Four."

Curling into himself, Sam propped his arms onto his knees. Running a hand through his hair, he squeezed his eyes. "What happens when one is broken?"

Ruby sighed, her apprehension not easing Sam one bit. "One of the Horsemen is let out."

"But I thought they couldn't get out till after the Apocalypse."

"Well your books got it wrong Sam. But don't worry, we can still fix this."

Hazel eyes flashed upwards in hopelessness, "How? It's not like I can go to the local store and buy a weapon to kill one of them. Not to mention Cas didn't even mention any of this to us."

"You've got to win them over, Sam." Ruby's voice sang with conviction. "That's why I sent you up there. Without Lucifer or Lilith around, they're open game."

Shock widened Sam's face. "Wh-what are you saying? I've gotta convince the Horsemen to join us? To prevent Apocalypse? Alastair said they were thrilled for it. How am I supposed to do that?"

"With that Winchester charm I love so much," purred Ruby. "I mean you won me over. And besides you're one of Azazel's children. That's bound to win you some brownie points."

"I don't like it Ruby," hesitation tugged at the hunter's gut.

"Have I ever steered you wrong? You gotta trust me on this, Sam."

"Fine," came out the curt word. Sam shook his head, pushing away the voices. "Just tell me why?"

"Because," huffed Ruby, "If you got one, just one, of the Horsemen working for us...they can take care of all the demons while you can focus on getting stronger. Not only that but it will be a hell of a lot easier to track down Lilith. They're powerful Sam, like on an epic scale they rank 9 right underneath Lucifer."

Nodding, Sam felt a heavy weight settle in his chest. "I'll think about it."

"Sam-"

"In the meantime, I need a refill."

"I just gave you one!"

"Yeah well, I kinda finished it off when Lilith showed up. Ruby," Sam paused, his face scrunching in disappointment, "I wasn't strong enough."

"Don't worry Sam," quipped Ruby. "You're getting there. Just be patient a little while longer. Call me when you have a motel and I'll swing by."

"Thanks," mumbled Sam. With that he lowered the phone closing it shut with a snap. The coldness of the tiles seeped into him clearing his mind of the heavy decisions upon him.

He could do this. Hell, he had to. For Dean.

-----

Lilith's face fell passive as she pushed herself off the ground. Despite being half of Dean's height, she made the hunter feel insignificant. "You saved me from the archangel. I was surprised at first, but..." Jumping onto the wooden bench, she cupped Dean's cheek in her hand. "Then you were there, the real you. Suicidal as always, but thrumming with all that self-inflicted rage."

Dean felt himself flinch when she touched him once again. His hand shot upwards to grab the thin wrist, squeeze hard till he knew that in one twist the bones would break.

"Be careful Dean, you wouldn't want to harm this body."

"Try me."

A vicious grin dashed across the girl's face like a nightmare. "You know, screw having you and your brother's head on a plate. Come and join me, Dean. You won't have to hide anymore. You'll be able to torture as many souls as you want, just like the good old days."

Dean's eyes blazed as he leaned forward, his breath pushing away a few strands of hair. "No."

"Alastair-"

"Don't you dare bring him in this. He didn't like going topside and didn't give a rat's ass about the your big plan for the Apocalypse. But you forced him too."

"You're wrong about that, Dean. Alastair cared deeply about it; I mean look at all the energy he spent on you." Tilting her head slightly, Lilith drooped her eyes creating a puppy-like expression. "Make him proud, Dean."

"Oh I will," rasped out a deep voice, "But in my own way." With a twist, he tossed the possessed girl back onto the ground. "Now get out of here, before I decide to kill you after all."

Lilith rubbed her sore wrist, disappointment shining in her eyes. "We could have ended this."

"You're lying."

"True." Smiling brightly, Lilith turned and walked back to the car with a slight swagger to her as if she was the keeper of a huge secrete. Which was the case making Dean take in a haggard breath. As if reading his mind, Lilith stopped and glanced over her shoulder, "Hope to die and stick a needle in my eye, I won't tell a soul."

"Good," spoke Dean.

And then just like she arrived, Lilith and car vanished before him. Sinking back onto the bench Dean eyed his fries with disgust. Grabbing the carton, he heard the slamming of a door.

Sam's long stride caught up to him as Dean slid off and tossed the trash into the can. "Let's go Sammy."

"Dean, we're in major trouble." Sam's body shifted back and froth on the heel of his feet.

Dean cocked his head at his little brother, "Thanks for the update."

"The seal up in Iron River and in Las Vegas, I know what they mean."

Green eyes widened, "Oh?"

"It's for the Horsemen. Now I don't know which ones are out, but this is bad Dean." Sam shook his head, walking past Dean's still form. "Yet, now that I know what we're looking at, I can probably figure it out no sweat."

Dean swallowed, turning inch by inch. A dead demon's voice vibrated in his mind.

"_Horsemen," gasped the teenage demon. "They're way out of your league_."

Green eyes traced up to watch Sam digging through his duffle bag, pulling out his laptop and notebooks.

"_Marks on the vessel will tell you which one_."

Shifting his body into third gear, Dean trudged to the Impala. "Wonderful."

"_The one in Iron River…She's smarter than the rest…more patient…Her name is_-"

"Sam."

Sam's head popped over the hood, "Yeah?"

Dean let out a grin, "If we can kill Yellow-Eyes, then we can kill the Horsemen."

The small pep talk boosted Sam's confidence. "Yep."

Hopping inside, the Impala roared to life. In a jet black streak, the iron horse galloped down the dusty road. In their wake, behind the corner of the rest stop, a lone figure stepped out into the open. A dark-hair man with piercing blue eyes stared sadly at the dust cloud.

Castiel gazed up at the endless blue skies, trying to ignore the tightening hold of something human pressing down on his soul. Silently, he prayed to a Father he hoped was listening.

The clouds drifted and rolled over each other. White cotton candy smeared into gray and black rumbling with thunder. Then white would shine through once more, streaking across forming large white mushrooms in the never-ending sky. Below the ever shifting creations, days passed into weeks as the Winchester brothers drove from one hunt to the next.

Whether sitting in the passenger seat or hunched over a table, whenever he could, Sam soaked up every site, book and depiction known to man about the Four Horsemen. There was Death, riding in on his pale horse as the last Horsemen to seal Humanity's fate. Meanwhile, War would be running around on his red horse, swinging his sword causing people to fall into a mindless rage. On his black horse, Famine carried his scales bringing forth hunger and pain. And lastly, the ringleader of the Horsemen, the first to walk out was Conquest. The white steed always stood proud foremost, with Conquest's head crowned as he held a bow aloft. Then he would go out conquering solidifying the Apocalypse.

"Dean, we're screwed."

"No, we're not, Sam. We don't give up till the fat lady sings."

The brief exchange rekindled Sam's determination, throwing himself back into research. He had yet to tell Dean of Ruby's plan of convincing one of the Riders to join them. But the younger Winchester could already hear Dean's loud mouth retort. No. For now, it was best to keep it a secret. Hell, this act might even turn out to be their secret weapon.

And as Sam Winchester's mind conjured grid-like plans into taking down the Horsemen, his brother blared the rock music, munching away at chips while his thoughts trailed down a similar path.

Weapons. But not for protection or killing. Nope, Dean's mind gathered like massive storm clouds thundering with the possibilities of what weapons would be the most fun.

While Sam researched and snuck out a night to meet Ruby, Dean drank up every thread of weaponry and torture ever conjured. The Middle Ages was becoming his favorite time period, with such devices as the Pear or the Iron Maiden.

Jotting down notes in a small flip notebook, Dean drove out to stores gathering supplies. Then in the dead of night, he sat cross-legged on the bed with the TV screaming out the most recent horror movie. His hands danced across his new tools, cleaning them, sharpening them and sometimes taking them apart and creating a whole new object. And as the clock reached two in the morning, Dean hid his toys in his duffle bag falling asleep with a content smile just as Sam crept back into the room, the stench of Ruby poisoning the air.

In the morning the brothers would be back on the road, finishing one hunt as they jumped onto another. And it was during these nightly rituals with Sam gone and Dean driving around, that the elder Winchester spotted an abandoned hanger. Pulling down the gravel road, Dean's green eyes widened as a pink tongue darted out to wet his lips. It was perfect.

Strolling inside, he took in the rusting chains clacking softly in the air as trickles of light streamed like razors through the shattered windows. Jacks, ramps and metal shelves lined around the one massive space. Boots crunching on stone, paper and glass, Dean peeked inside the small section of offices taking mental note of the desks and file cabinets. Grinning with satisfaction, Dean tugged his coat closer to his body eyes falling onto the walkway separating the single hanger from the offices. There it was, calling his name, smooth against the floor.

Crouching down, the hunter curled his fingers around the latch and with a single yank pulled open a door. Leaning down, he reached out feeling out the switch. The thin projectile hung from the side. Flicking it down, Dean squinted as pale blue light flickered in and out picking up speed till whiteness blinded him. Blinking away the black dots, green eyes widened into huge saucers while a smile beamed from his face. Dean looked like he had just won the jackpot.

Before him, deep enough to walk straight up was an underground work area where if needed the floor would part for the ground crew to work underneath the equipment without lying constantly on their backs. This huge cavern was the selling point. With the stale air, poor lighting and more chains lying on metal tables, Dean felt as if he was home.

Throughout the night, Dean carried his toys down into the Pit storing them with love. He would only to get to visit once a week, if a hunt was nearby. But still his body hummed with a heat, warming him like the old days back when he was in Hell banishing away Earth's coldness.

A loud snap resonated in the air as Dean gave a yank on the chained lock tied around the sliding doors. Letting out a laugh, the hunter nodded in satisfaction and walked back to the Impala with a bounce to his step.

Dancing continued between the brothers. If Sam was back before Dean, the elder merely shrugged and stated he went to the bar. If Dean was early, well, he said nothing merely watching Sam closely. Once in a while, he swore he sniffed a bit of sulfur coming from Sam, whenever the Sasquatch walked by him.

Sadly, nothing was meant to last and the brothers found themselves over by the west coast. Dean itched to draw blood. Sam itched to drink blood. The younger couldn't sleep, picturing constantly his award winning speech to one of the Horsemen, whom he was certain one was Conquest. The elder groaned in protest as his body forced him to wake up after a pleasant nightmare of slicing up Azazel ten-ways to Heaven.

Pushing open the door, Dean practically fell out of the Impala. Sam paused in brushing his teeth, glancing over his shoulder from his position in front of the hood.

"Good morning, sunshine."

Cracking his back, Dean waved off his brother, fighting back how much he was starting to feel his age. Stomach growling, he grumbled in annoyance and was about to reach inside for the brown bag.

Then a forgotten phone rang in the glove department. All dreams of torturing and killing Lilith froze in their tracks. Some poor, pathetic creature played the wrong card.

There was no way the Winchester brothers were going to ignore the small statement of some kid claiming to be John Winchester's son.

No way in Hell and that was what was coming straight at him in the shape of a black muscle car.

-----------------------------------------------

A/N: Cue dramatic music. And I'm so excited cause finally!!!! One of the parts that I've been eager to write it coming up. YESSSSSS :)


	18. Chapter 18

Disclaimer: Maybe if I stare hard and long enough at the screen, maybe I can finally type in that I own these guys....dangit, it didn't work.

A/N: It's August!!! Yes!!! One more month till Season 4 is on DVD. And we just bought a new TV, soooo can't wait to play the eps on it. Anyways, back on topic. Here's the next chappie, with something that I've been itchin to write.

**The Final Straw**

His heart pounded in-sync with the punch. Blood not his own sprayed upwards, mingling with the cooling sweat on his face. The body underneath him, so young and fresh with no signs of hardships, strained against him no longer for an escape. Sandy blond hair dyed into a dark hue of red as pale blue eyes were obliterated out of existence.

Death of a ghoul was a bloody mess.

"_Be fast, Dean. Quick shot to the head_," barked John Winchester's voice.

Groans gurgled through non-existent lips. The nose was crushed beyond recognition pooling in the collapsing face of the youngest Winchester. Adam Winchester, the pre-med college student raised by a loving mother and just getting reacquainted with his father right before a ghoul decided to make him his dinner trashed a final kick before his body shuddered into a limp.

Arm bashing the decorative candlestick, Dean's face was covered in shadows and barely contained fury. In the faint moonlight, the hunter's lips thinned as his body fell into an old rhythm. With each burn of his muscles, he pictured the corpse of the newly found brother lying to rot in a coffin with dead eyes frozen forever in fear, his chest ripped open for all to see.

Sam had been right. Adam was a piece of meat to the ghouls. They had willingly picked the wrong piece though. No one messes with Dean Winchester's family or innocent strangers. Lungs burning, the hunter continued smashing the head of the ghoul feeling his left hand and mind sink into a sea of blood.

The demon in him sang with joy, begging for more blood. It had been far too long. This creature deserved more than a mere beating of the face. Maybe, next he would slice open the arms and let the ghoul bleed to death just as Sam was strapped to the table like a Thanksgiving spread. Taking in a haggard breath, Dean tilted his head back slightly, the light striking like a match against his black eyes. Licking his lips, the salty taste of sweat and the tang of blood broke the dam. Slamming down once-more, a surge overtook his mind blacking him out to the outside world.

Floating, Dean felt the pure ecstasy ripple through his veins. The rush was uncontrollable, roaring through him at such a speed he felt that he would explode any moment. Pain of his arm's muscles screaming for oxygen collided with the bitter pleasure of exacting revenge. Hell flooded through Dean, the howls of the damned covered him in a blanket of rotting stench.

"_It's a mess_," _hissed a voice off to his right._

Arm halting in a downward strike, Dean tried to turn towards the origin but his body was paralyzed in the blood lust.

"_What did I tell you about giving into this frenzy of torture?" The voice snapped in measured wrath. _"_I do not tolerate sloppiness. If I did, then any idiotic soul could become a torturer_."

White searing pain blossomed in the middle of Dean's back. Mouth flying open into a silent scream, Dean collapsed forward. His forearms braced him from falling totally on top of the body, yet, his dark green jacket slid in the black puddle.

"_I've been too lenient on you. Back onto the rack." Alastair's talons sank further into Dean's back, scratching at his backbone. "It's your one and only warning Dean_."

"N-no…" moaned Dean, his breath ghosting over a patch of hair untouched on a small island of flesh.

_Another voice chuckled in the background as the horrific memory of a lesson played out, chasing away the adrenaline rush_.

"_Aw, look_," _crooned Nicor,_ "_Deanie got in trouble_."

_Hair ripped out from his skull, the ever-moving demon thrust Dean headfirst into the rib-cage of the shredded soul._

Body shivering in a cold sweat, Dean pushed himself away from the ghoul's still form. The candlestick rolled out of his fingers, resting peacefully next the remains of what used to be a head. The hunter felt the tide that drowned him pull back, leaving behind a battered mind.

"_Have we learned our lesson?" purred his mentor's voice into his ear._

"Y-yes," whispered Dean.

"_Dean_…"

Closing his eyes, the hunter felt himself begin to drift away, his body stated from the rushed torture and killing while sinking into the oblivion that welcomed him after Alastair's visits.

"…_Dean_…"

Alastair's voice vibrated deeply, dragging him away from a blissful nap. "_Dean_."

Eyes knitting together, black fading into green peeked out from underneath thick eyelashes. That time, the voice didn't sound like a bad impersonation of Marlon Brando.

"Dean!"

The poor excuse for a scream was higher, filled with fear and urgency. It was a tone he had grown used to soothing over the years, telling him that everything would be ok, that he was here to protect him. It was the voice of his brother, his Sammy.

------------------

Cold water shocked Dean back to the present. Left arm extending, he sought blindly for the rough white towel. Fingers falling into the soft cushion, Dean yanked the article towards his face scrubbing away his sins. What was the old saying? Cleanliness is next to godliness?

Even after all the water was gone, Dean kept the towel on his face. He needed this Fortress of Solitude. How could he have lost control like that? Right next door, Sam was bleeding to death on a table and he had decided to go fully demonic. A twinge tickled the back of his mind where his other self laid sprawled on a bed fully satisfied with the killing.

If it hadn't been for remembering Alastair's punishment and Nicor's giddiness at the 'favorite' getting in trouble, Dean knew beyond a doubt that he would have continued pounding away onto the ghoul's body. And Sam would be dead.

Dread filled his stomach. Sliding the towel down his face, Dean stared sadly into the cracked mirror rim catching a glimpse of green eyes staring back. He almost killed his brother tonight.

"_Don't you dare change this into a chick moment_!"

Tired eyes rose to meet his mirror image. Arms crossed over his black tee-shirt, the demon scoffed. After all the weeks, the dark soul was now mature, fully grown into the body of a thirty-year old. Barely visible, a few binding lines remained mere shadows of their former shapes. The demon's pitch black eyes narrowed in disgust.

Dean bit back a groan. The stench of gas and ash still plagued his nose from the funeral earlier tonight. "_I'm not. It's just tonight…it went against our deal_."

Cocking an eyebrow, the demon twitched his head as if trying to figure out the link. "_How's that_?_ The deal was that we merge in exchange of protecting Sam. Well, we protected Sam. We had to make sure the ghoul was dead_."

"_A bit overkill wasn't it_?"

"_Yadda, yadda_." Waving his hand, the demon shook his head in exasperation. "_If I knew this was how you'd become when we went full out_-"

"_What do you mean full out_?" Worry tugged at Dean's heart.

His counter-self grinned, "_What you were feeling? That was just the beginning of our potential, as Alastair loved to hint at_."

Swallowing, Dean broke contact, eyes darting down to the sink trying to hide the panic. Not really caring, the demon continued onwards, his voice light without any burdens. "_What? You know that I did't just sit around down in the Pit twiddling my thumbs. The longer a demon is down in the Pit, the more powerful it becomes. The same applied for me, except I could never express it due to a certain fact that about most of my existence was topside_."

Crouching down, he reached out gently nudging Dean to look up at him once more. "_But now that we're the same…we're strong, you and I. We might never get to use demonic powers like the others, but were they fail we will succeed_."

Doubt flittered through Dean's face. Sighing, the demon pushed back his annoyance. He didn't need his 'good' counterpart breaking away now. "_We just gotta learn to control it. That's all_."

"Great." Pushing away from the sink, Dean trudged out of the bathroom into the small living quarters. He was on the edge. One final leap and all the prepartion would pay off. He had one more chance to turn back, to remain human. Shifting his eyes to the right, the answer laid quietly, remainding him why he was on this tightrope.

Crashing onto the hard brown chair positioned at the foot of Sam's bed, Dean gazed worriedly upon the long form of his brother. Sam had yet to wake up, his face pale and sweat soaked. White gauze was tied around each wrist, standing with contrast against the tanned skin that lay limply on the burgundy comforter. Lying there, with the thin motel blanket tucked with love underneath his massive form, Sam looked young. Traces of his hardships and vengeance were smoothed away into blissful sleep.

Eyes drowning in grief locked themselves on the gauze, pinpointing the tiny pink dots. Soon, he would have to change Sam's wrappings. A shudder ran down the hunter's spine, making him curl even deeper into the chair. Seeing the precious liquid drip into porcelain bowls that Sam's skin was coloring into had freaked him out. No alcohol could stop the trembling in his chest as he heard the soft shallow breaths marking Sam's sleep.

His brother had lost so much blood. Hands pressed hard against the deep slices while he worked the gauze was too reminiscent of a night long ago where that same blood seeped through his fingers as he cradled his brother against him on the damp ground of a ghost town.

Squeezing his eyes shut, Dean ran a pair of rough hands over his face. It was too much. He couldn't stand losing Sam again. Kicking himself over and over, Dean berated himself for losing control.

"It-it won't happen again," muttered Dean as he peaked through his fingers, conviction shining in his eyes. "I won't lose control ever again."

Silence was his reply. Sam's eyes scrunched together as if in pain. Darting forward, Dean grasped Sam's large hand while the other ran gently through the soaked brown hair.

"I'm here for ya, Sammy." A frown tugged at Dean's face as his brother jerked weakly away from him. A soft moan passed through the pale lips. This wasn't normal for blood loss. The older brother made sure there was no infection present, so Sam shouldn't be sick. Yet, the symptoms... "What's wrong with you?"

Taking whispered steps backwards, Dean resumed his position in the chair. Minutes trickled into an hour. Straightening out his back, joints popping, he pulled out a slim phone, feeling his mind breaking in the silence. With a flip, he dialed an old friend's phone number. "Bobby."

Bobby heard clearly the weariness cracking at Dean's voice. "What is it boy? Somethin' happen?"

Shaking his head, Dean swallowed hard as the body of Adam flashed before him. "Nah…I," The hunter paused, not really sure why he called. Mind racing, his mouth fumbled out words to cover his anxiety. "I ran into Alexei a few weeks back."

Relief tickled across the mouth piece. "That's good to hear."

"She didn't have her cell. I've been meaning to call but I've been busy. Sorry." Dean licked his lips the urge to run to his hideout fidgeting his body.

"All that matters is that you called. Now, Dean, what's up boy?"

Sam moaned louder snapping Dean's eyes to him. Lips trembling, Sam's legs twisted underneath the blanket. Fingers grasped weakly at the cheap cloth. The floppy head strained against the pillow, pushing it deeper against the mattress. "I-"

"Hang on a sec, Bobby." Lowering his phone, Dean flew to Sam's side. "Sam, it's ok. What do you need?"

Licking his lips, dilated hazel eyes peeked through crusted eyelashes. A hoarse voice strained out past cracked lips. "Need it…Ru-Ruby…ne-need it." Letting out one more groan, Sam faded back to unconsciousness.

Hell froze over.

Standing like a marble statue, Dean forgot how to breathe or blink as he fell off the edge. In the far distant, Bobby's gruff voice bounced from the phone. Yet, all Dean could hear was Sam's voice calling for Ruby. Ruby. The demonic witch who was turning his brother into some vegence killing machine. Ruby, the little snake that could and was driving them apart. Who somehow convinced Sam to keep secrets from his own brother. Ruby. Screw Lucifer being the source of all Evil. For right now, in Dean's small world that revolved around the sun that was Sam, Ruby was that black disc blocking the light. She was the snake who needed its' head cut off.

Eyes sliding shut, Dean's face tightened when Sam moaned out, "Ruby," voice heavy with need and desperation.

And like all things, when frozen for far too long, it cracks and shatters into a million pieces. A black hole that was once a million light years away expanded till it absorbed every pulse in the hunter. The void swallowed Dean whole, wiping out all traces of grief and concern and the last shreds of a binding spell.

Opening unblinking, dead eyes, Dean backed away from the bed body on automatic pilot. Raising the phone to his ear, the subzero void crackled forth a plan. "Bobby."

"Dean?" Caution laced the older hunter's word.

"You got Rick's or Alexei's number?"

"Yeah, why?"

"Can I have them?"

Bobby paused, considering Dean's odd request. Then there was paper heard shuffling the background. "Can I ask why? Cause I've been calling their phones for ages but no one ever picks up. Heck, even the GPS is off."

"If Alexei is alive, then so is Rick."

"Ok, and?" Surprise lit the older man's voice.

"Alexei said she was waiting for her brother and I bet you that it was Rick."

"Alright, but why-"

"She was able to track Lilith. I need to get a hold of her to see if Lilith is anywhere near us."

Bobby's voice grew hard, "Dean, tell me right here and now that you are not in trouble or I won't help."

A once charming grin full of life flashed with seductive promise. "We're not in trouble. I just don't want to get caught with my pants down."

The grunt was his only confirmation that Bobby had given up on trying to get a straight answer. Reading off the numbers, the experienced hunter barked loudly. "Don't do anything stupid, ya idjit."

Dean quickly memorized the numbers. "Thanks. Later." Cutting off Bobby's muffled 'No prob' comment, the standing Winchester took in a deep breath, his body shivering from the numbness and anticipation. Counting to ten, he flipped open his phone and dialed the first number.

------------------

Alexei's lip curled in disgust as she rose, holding out the small white bowl crusted with dry blood. "I hate ghouls."

Off to her side, Rick stood in the doorway that led into a trashed living room. Skilled eyes moved from one impact to another, resting on the floor where a large blood stain was outlined in chalk. "It was one quick but brutal fight."

Cracked lips peeled back into Joker-like smirk, revealing a row of white teeth. "These Winchesters are one of a kind."

His companion was about to respond when the chime erupted from Rick's jeans pocket. Glancing a confused look to Alexei, he pulled out the phone. "It's this damn thing again. Bobby never gets the message that I don't want to be found."

Alexei walked up, eying the metal box. "Then I'll answer."

Reading the window informing him that it was an unknown caller, Rick handed the girl his phone, "And if it's some hunter?"

"Then I'll just say I found the phone on the side of the road." Picking the vibrating phone, Alexei slid the cover open. "Hello?"

A deep voice let out a small curse as if he was expecting a male voice instead of a female. Alexei shrugged, glancing up at Rick and was about to hang up when the voice pierced through her ear. "Alexei?"

"Yeah?"

"It's Dean Winchester."

Black eyes widened, "Oh hi Dean. How did-"

"I need your help." Desperation was building quietly in the man's tone.

Alexei's lips thinned. "What's wrong?"

Dean ignored her question. "Meet me at 286 Bonnie and Clyde motel." Then the air was filled with static.

Lowering the phone, Alexei handed it back to Rick whose face was tense with anticipation. "Let's got meet Dean."

------------------------

Standing in front of a peeling brown door with the number 286 tilted slightly, Alexei eyed her partner. Rick nodded, his hands hung loosely at the side but ready to draw the concealed gun. Raising her hand, Alexei rapped her knuckles lightly.

A gruff voice replied, "Door's open."

Shrugging, the female hunter opened the door stepping into the small entrance. The room's only light came from the lamp situated near the window. With Rick right behind her, Alexei slammed the door behind her. "De-"

Water flew into her, drenching her instantly.

Rick swore loudly, wiping the stinging away from his eyes. "What the hell, Winchester?"

Shaking her hair, Alexei swished the water around in her mouth spitting it out. "This salt water?"

"Actually, it's holy salt water." Stepping out from behind a jeweled curtain with a trashcan in his hand, Dean extended his arm. Clasped in his hand was a silver knife. "Cut yourself."

Rick's lips thinned, humiliation fuming off of him. "We're not possessed."

Dean's green eyes shot up at him, no hint of fooling around shining in them. "Do it," was the only reply.

Alexei sighed, grabbing the knife. "Is this really necessary?" Rolling up her sleeve, the hunter made quick slice across her upper forearm, biting the inside of her cheek from the sting.

Handing the bloody blade, Rick took hold and performed the same action. "Can we at least get a band aid?"

Nodding, Dean laid down the trashcan. Walking by the hunters, he snatched the blade away. "I've got some on the table here. Sorry about the caution, but I had to make sure you weren't possessed."

Dean halted hovering near the edge of the bed closest to the door. In the dark corner, behind Dean, the other two hunters barely made out the form of Sam Winchester. Rick plopped down on a chair near the table, grabbing the box of band aids.

Alexei pushed back a strand of wet hair. "Why would you think that?"

"Because you both were at ground zero when a seal broke."

"True," Rick leaned back, finally satisfied.

Rolling his shoulders, Dean gazed at the window before focusing back on the hunters. "Why are you hiding?"

Alexei and Rick shared a glance, sparking suspicion in Dean. The female leaned against the post, crossing her ankles. "We saw the release of a Horseman, Dean. With that type of knowledge, the demons have been chasing us. I would have died if Rick hadn't appeared."

Grunting, Dean crossed his arms. "You're both stupid. Why didn't you call for help?"

Rick scoffed, "Don't be hypocritical boy. You Winchesters never ask for help and we all know that Sam is number one on their hit list."

The blond head hung in silence. "Good point."

"As much as I like to chit-chat," Alexei lowered her voice into a whisper, "I have a feeling you need us for something fast."

Green eyes peered up at her, "I need you to watch out for Sam. He was recently…injured. All he needs is rest for a couple of days."

Rick rolled his eyes, "We don't baby-sit."

"Why didn't you just call Bobby?" Alexei's voice was full of understanding, pushing Dean to tell her more.

Shifting uncomfortable, Dean fought to maintain his gaze at her. "You're a good hunter. Heck, you found out about Lilith, so you passed the test in my book." Pausing, Dean quietly added, "Besides, Bobby would ask questions. He'd…try to stop me…"

Interest piqued, Rick leaned forward, dangling his left arm over the edge of the table. Lowering his own voice into a rasp, he questioned. "From what?"

Ice-cold fortitude chiseled the young man's face. "From this hunt." Blinking, he eyed each one. He hated leaving Sam like this. Every part of him was screaming to stay. His brother needed him right now. If he just left, Sam would freak out and search for him despite his injuries. Sam's health was his concern and if that meant having to hire babysitters, as Rick loved to put it, to force him to stay then Dean was willing to do it.

"_Need it…Ru-Ruby…ne-need it_."

Rage frosted his heart forcing the path clear with black-ice clarity. He wasn't that Dean anymore.

"Will you do it?"

Sharing another glance that spoke arguments instead of words, Alexei smiled gently. "Yes."

A relieved smile ghosted over Dean's face. "Thanks." Without more to say, Dean grabbed his coat, wallet and keys. "I'll be back in about three or four days. And if anything happens to him, I'll kill you."

And in a rush of barely concealed urgency, Dean Winchester flew out of the motel room leaving his brother in the presence of smiling strangers.

--------------------

A door of another motel room cities away creaked open. A dark form squeezed through the narrow opening, closing the door quietly behind her. Tip-toeing further into the room, Ruby halted allowing her human eyes to adjust to the darkness. An hour ago, she had received an urgent text from Sam begging that he needed her.

Darkness slithered into a curved smile on her face, twisting the beautiful face into a horror movie extra. Everything was going to plan. Sam was eating out of the palm of her hand. Soon, she would have him wrapped tightly around her finger that he wouldn't be able to exist one day without her. And with Dean such an emotional wreck from Hell, her job at separating the brothers was becoming so easy.

It was perfect.

Pushing down her giddiness, Ruby whispered out into the night. "Sam?" Nothing. "Sam?"

Sniffing, Ruby tilted her head upwards as she caught a scent of something burning. Eyes narrowing, "Sam this is not funny." Taking a step forward, the demon slammed into an invisible wall. Why the hell did that stupid Winchester draw a devil's trap? "Shit!"

The curse rang loudly. Cradling her sore nose, Ruby glared into the darkness. Why the hell didn't she think about turning on the lights? All pretenses gone, she raised her voice into an irritated yell. "Sam!"

Without warning, she was slammed back into the wall. A hand covered her mouth with a cloth of some sort. Bracing herself, Ruby raised her hands onto the wall as something cold nudged away the hair off her neck.

Muffling, Ruby strained to back free, but the grip over her mouth was tight. Something wasn't right. She was demon. She should be able to shrug off any human with ease. Yet, this one's tight on her was bruisingly strong. Ruby never finished her thought. Searing white pain blinded her, the smell of burning flesh filling the air. Screaming, Ruby trashed about yet it was no avail. With a sickening pop, she heard the burning object leave her blistering skin, plopping onto the ground. The free hand grabbed onto her wrists, grinding and locking them in place behind her back. Body trembling, Ruby had no choice but inhale deeply. A strange feeling began to fog in her mind, washing away her fight urge.

Her assailant continued to hold her as her body slumped into a pile of bones and meat. Eyes sliding shut, Ruby's mind soon followed into a never-ending night.

---------------------------------------------

A/N: *cackles evilly* I've been wanting to write that end for so long. And that's all I have to say. Later!


	19. Chapter 19

Disclaimer: Don't own Supernatural.

A/N: Yay, fanfiction works again! So here begins what pretty much all of you (and me included) waited for. Sadly, to keep the story T rated, I can't go all out, guns blazing away *Sniff* But I'll get as close as I can :)

**Singing in the rain**

Pale golden light flooded into the darkness pushing away the hunger growling at every turn. A stifled moan grinding past his rough throat, Sam weakly pushed himself up onto his elbows, the thin blanket falling away.

"D-Dean." The croak of a voice made the hunter cringe. How could he have been so careless with Adam? Blinking away black dots, he watched as a white fuzzy band shifted into the clarity of bandages.

Swallowing, Sam pulled his legs outwards, sliding away the blanket away from him. He felt drained, his arms shaking slightly from the exertion. He didn't hear a single footstep till he saw a pair of small black boots fill his vision.

A hand touched his shoulder halting his moves. Eyes narrowing, Sam peeked upwards taking in the slim figure of a missing hunter. "Wh-what?"

Alexei smiled down at him, "Easy there tiger."

"W-where's?"

"Rick went to grab something to eat. We figured you might be starving when you woke up." Raising her hand, laying it gently against his forehead, Alexei pursed her lips. "How you are feeling? You're not running a fever, so that's a good thing."

Swatting her hand away as if she burned him, Sam glanced about the room searching for familiar bottles and a duffle bag. "Where's Dean?"

Grateful for the harsh tone, Sam fought back the rising fear in him. It scared him at how the pit in his stomach was already forming, pushing him back to that dark chasm that was summer. The empty bed, no sign of his brother…it was if Dean was dead. His brother's body rotting in some coffin six-feet underground while his soul was tortured for all eternity.

"Dean's on a hunt."

Sam bowed his head, hands lying limp on his lamp. Relief seeped into him. Dean was alive. Gratitude warmed his cold body.

"He said he'd be gone a few days and wanted us to watch over you." Tucking her hands into her pockets, Alexei rocked quietly on the balls of her feet, awkwardness filling the air. "Don't worry, he checked us already to make sure we're one hundred percent human."

She watched as Sam's brow narrowed in concentration. Why would Dean leavehim like this? Never in all his life had had his brother left him like this intentionally, healing after some fight on his own. Tilting his head, Sam felt something coil in hurt at the thought of Dean abandoning him like this. It was like Dad all over again.

"_But you're doing the same thing_," hissed a voice, "_You would leave Dean alone to battle his nightmares while you snuck out with Ruby_."

"Something the matter?"

Alexei's concerned voice silenced the voice. Shaking his head, Sam licked his lips. "No. Did Dean say what he was hunting?"

"No, but whatever it was, he was itchin to leave."

Exhaling loudly, Sam carefully rose from the bed. His legs buckled underneath but Alexei's arms caught him, pushing him upright till he stood towering over her. Breathing heavily, Sam sent a small thank-you smile.

Alexei nodded in return. "No problem."

Breaking from her hold, he turned towards the door locking his eyes onto her. "Hey, could you maybe like leave me alone for a couple minutes." Smiling politely, his eyes sparkled with charm. "I kinda want to get cleaned up before I crash again on the bed."

Rolling her shoulders, Alexei nibbled on her lip. Yet the puppy-dog expression was hard to resist. Biting hard, the hunter walked quietly to the door. "Fine, but don't do anything stupid like sneaking out. If anything were to happen to you, your brother is gonna have my head on a plate."

Sam couldn't help but laugh as Alexei walked out, shutting the door softly behind her. Running a shaking hand through his sweat-drenched hair, Sam plopped back down on the bed. Bending over, he bit back a groan as his stomach clenched hard as if it was being stabbed by something. Hissing in pain, Sam reached out and grabbed his cell-phone off of the nightstand.

"You better have a good reason," Flipping open his phone, Sam hit number 1, hearing the dial tone ring up his brother, "Jerk."

----------------------------

A loud screeching guitar riff hammered a long metal spike into her mind blasting comforting numbness into blazing white pain. Inhaling deeply, Ruby coughed as dust filled her mouth. The annoying riff ended. The demon shifted her eyes underneath their lids, smiling mentally at the silence. As if sensing her joy, the guitar song began again.

"_You've got to be kidding me_," Ruby rasped quietly, her throat dry, tears of water welling her eyes at the discomfort.

Halfway through, the song was cut in half. "You ok? Good. I'm busy. Yeah, well I'll call you later. No, I can't, like I said busy. Look, don't get your panties in a twist. You're in no shape, so don't even try- Relax, will ya." The gruff whisper paused before affection finished off. "Bitch."

The click pulled Ruby's curiosity to crack open her eyes. She had to play this cool. Whatever idiot captured her still thought she was out cold. Twitching her wrists, Ruby felt cold metal of cuff pin her stretched out arms against some equally cold metal table. Shifting bare feet on the smooth ground, she felt the same was true with her feet.

"Rise and shine." The voice no longer whispered and was filled with playfulness and hatred at the same time. There was only one person that was capable of such a feat.

Cracking her eyes open, Ruby glowered at Dean who stood before her arms crossed over his chest with a cheeky grin plastered on his face. "Well," barked Ruby, "You just gonna stand there all day or are you gonna get me out of here?"

Dean tightened his grin. Uncrossing his arms, the hunter began to roll up the thin tee sweater's sleeves. In the thrumming bluish light, Ruby scanned the room, noticing the black devil's traps underneath and above her head. The long rectangular room was cold, and it wasn't just from the cement or the chains dangling from hooks on all four walls. Beyond the trap a few feet away, was a thick black circle sparkled with crystals that she felt in her gut was salt. By the single exit, there where a small set of stair rising upwards. Before the first step, she noticed a thick line of the white substance.

"Well ain't this Martha Stewart like-" the sarcastic remark died on her tongue was Ruby's eyes settled on red paint staining the walls. Numerous demonic wards were painted throughout, each from a different culture and time period. And intermingled with the wards were those of the angelic kind.

Then as if that wasn't enough, the wall off to her left was lined with shelves filled with more salt, silver and water. Rosaries dangled off of the caged metal lining. Underneath the shelves was a long table full of knives, iron rods and numerous items she did not want to know about. Was that blue canister a welding torch?

And before the table was Dean Winchester with a tiny bowl, picking up each blade and dunking them into the water.

Warning bells rang off in her mind. Struggling against her binds, Ruby tried to pry herself free from the metal cuffs. "You've got to be kidding me!"

Dean halted. "Oh," a dark voice purred towards her. "Sister, I'm far from kidding."

Ruby felt heat rise to her cheeks, "Don't you dare call me-"

Black eyes glared daggers at her over a worn-out shoulder. Panic took flight. Pulling herself together, Ruby realized that she was utterly and totally screwed. Dean Winchester was possessed. Not a good thing at all. Glancing at the devil traps, she would have singed with relief that they would be easy to break through. And from there she could squeeze out of the thin line that ran across the ceiling slightly outside of the trap.

Opening her mouth, Ruby flew out of her dead host. It was a nice body while it lasted. Thankfully,it wouldn't be too hard to find another comatose body to appease Sam. After that, Ruby mused as she roared out; she would find Sam and tell him about Dean. She couldn't wait till she watched Sam exorcisehis own brother. Christmas had definitely came early this year.

The man himself grabbed a silver needle and pulled out a long black thread that had been soaking in holy water from the bowl. Walking over, he eyed the large black cloud forming overhead. He wasn't worried in the least, if anything he was amused.

Lacing the thread through the eye of the needle, Dean paused by Ruby's side watching as the smoke reached out to touch the devil's trap overhead while it continued to pour out of the body. Then the body twitched and like an elastic band, the smoke flung back with a mighty roar into the small female body.

Reaching out, Dean gently ran a hand through the black hair eying the burned binding lock he had sizzled into her neck back at the motel. The charcoal circle and line gleamed like a black diamond.

A pained gasp pulled Dean's attention back to the front. Dropping her hair, he stepped out in front of the demon.

Blinking, Ruby stared up at the hunter. "What do you want?"

"Well there's the usual stuff, like who you are truly working for, your end goal," Dean leaned up into Ruby's face till their noses almost touched, his black eyes sparking with uttermost rage. "What the hell you did to Sam?"

Tense silence solidified between the two as the captured demon realized with dread that Dean wasn't possessed. Nope. That over-protective brotherly rage was hundred percent Dean Winchester. Somehow once again, this Winchester defied the rules and became a demon. Hiding her apprehension, Ruby coughed out a laugh, "I'm not gonna talk you know. It doesn't matter how much you learned from Alastair, you're not him…you don't scare me."

Dean tsked softly, "Making you talk isn't my goal. Pleasure before business is the name of the game."

The demon felt the floor drop out from underneath her. "Yeah, well it doesn't matter." Mustering her faltering confidence, Ruby grinned into Dean's face. "You couldn't torture Alastair without breaking. You're weak and more importantly…I'm older than you making me stronger." Taking in a deep breath, Ruby let her eyes flutter shut as a Latin incantation to break the traps tying her body to the table began to spill out of her lips.

"Oh sweetheart," disappointment laced Dean's voice. Grabbing her jaw, his fingers dug into her pale cheeks silencing the incantation. Tight lips twisted to break open.

Cursing black eyes locked onto hungry ones. Licking his lips as if waiting to taste something exquisite, Dean tilted his head slightly. "Age doesn't make you stronger, it's all about experience."

With that, Dean drove the needle straight both her lips. "And as much as I love to hear you scream, I can't have you be the party pooper here." Tugging, Dean tilted the needle downwards for another pass.

Ruby's body bucked underneath him, strained screams fighting to break through found their outlet through the rivers of tears. Yet, Dean paid no attention, focused solely on sewing those pale, bleeding lips closed with perfect precision. He was a professional after all.

-------------------

Deep in an enclosed space, Castiel lost himself from the world. Every time he blinked he saw Lilith's arms wrapped around Dean. It had been weeks since the incident, but something inside of him froze no matter how long ago it had been. Curling over the mint-condition wooden desk, Castiel tugged the coat closer to his body shielding himself from the blowing cold air.

Rolling his shoulders, the angel fought back a flinch as his healing wounds strained against the movement. The latest battle had involved a few more powerful demons and it didn't help that somehow they had knives that could kill angels. He only could pray that the rogue angels Uriel spoke of were not behind the act.

Bowing his head, Castiel gently turned the page of the ancient transcript. Behind these walls of glass in a controlled environment locked away from constant human touches, with the exception of a few granted personnel, the angel strained his eyes reading the dead language. Piles of books rested to the side, each containing sections dealing with demonic possession and tainted souls. Somewhere in these texts had to be a way to save Dean.

Words scribed in black upon golden inscribed papyrus uttered nothingness, Castiel pinched the bridge of his nose, his body aching for rest. Since the rest stop, Zachariah had constantly sent him on mission upon mission making it impossible to research or even contact the Winchesters. It was as if his superior knew that something was afoot and was doing everything in his power to wear him down. And it was working.

"You look tired my son."

Blue eyes peered over the pale knuckles taking in the simple brown clothed man. The elder man has his tanned face wrinkled from many a days spent tending the monastery's garden. Warm brown eyes shone forth from white hair that hung wildly about his head. Lowering himself on a chair, the monk folded his hands upon the desk gazing down at the books.

A voice full of warmth and wisdom whispered to the angel, "You should take a break."

Castiel lowered his hand, shaking his head. Blue eyes fell back down on the book. "I can't." He barely had time to sneak off to do this research. He couldn't waste anymore time, for he feared that as the days passed by the less likely it would be to save his charge's soul.

Grief swelled in him. How did this happen? Why would Dean let himself get possessed? Where had he gone wrong?

"If you truly are desperate, it will do no one any good if you strain yourself to sickness." Tilting his head, the monk stared hard at the angel till those blue eyes lifted themselves up towards him. A silent plea shimmered behind the emotionless mask. "What bothers you?"

The curt tone was automatic. "Nothing."

A soft chuckle vibrated from the old man's chest. "I will not tell a soul, cross my heart and hope to die, stick a needle in my eye."

Shoulders slumping, Castiel fixated his eyes onto his vessel's hands that once held a precious gift of a daughter to slaughtering demons a few hours ago. Hidden within him, he felt Jimmy cuddle deeper into the protective sleep Castiel held him in. "Do you know…of anything concerning the union of a demonic soul to its pure counterpart?"

The monk blinked the weathered face void for a second. Then a long smile tugged upwards crinkling his eyes. "That is not the question that bothers you, child."

Castiel glanced briefly at the monk whose eyes seemed to shine at him with a patient love he only knew from observations. It was strange for a mere mortal to pierce through his masks and strike at the heart. A musing thought tinkled through his mind at how Uriel might have reacted to such a man considering the dead angel only saw them as plumbing on two legs. Uriel's voice brimming with disgust echoed in his mind. "_God isn't God anymore. He doesn't care what we do. I am proof of that_."

Taking a deep breath, careful as always with his words, Castiel uttered questions, confiding a second time to a human instead of to his brethren. "Why would…a father not be involved if something…wrong…happened to his family?"

"Hmm," leaning back, the monk gazed upwards through the glass ceiling taking in the old stone arches of the Vatican library. "The role of a father is a precarious one. Not only must he enforce the rules and deal out punishments in a just manner. But on the other hand, a father must love his children utterly with no favoritism."

"But why-" Conflict clashed within the angel, metaphors pouring out of him. "Why would a father love the youngest son over the eldest? Why when the eldest does something wrong, he is punished but other times are not?" Squeezing his eyes, Castiel muttered under his breath, "Where is a father when his children need him the most?"

"Those are questions no one has answers too," spoke the monk softly. "But I can tell you something, would you like to hear it?"

A feeble nod from the raven-haired man was his only answer. "A father knows that he must let go of his children even if he or they are not ready. There comes a time when he must put faith in his children that they know right from wrong without him being there constantly. If his children kept crying for help at every crisis and he came at each call, then when the true crisis arises they would not be prepared or be any wiser."

Pausing, the monk leaned forward watching for any reactions from his quiet companion. "And even if it might look that a father favors one child, it is not true. A father might spoil the youngest and make the eldest watch and protect the other. But, the inspiring trust a father has in the eldest to watch over something so precious to his own heart shows that there is an undying love towards the eldest as well. It is just a different form of love."

Blue eyes opened staring up at him. "What are you saying monk?"

Smiling still, the old man stood up and took a step forward. "I am saying that even if a father is not there physically, his presence is still there. His love resides in the faith he has in his children to find happiness, even if it means there must be some painful struggles along the way."

Reaching out, he placed a hand on the young man's shoulder. Castiel arched minutely into the touch, feeling unbridled tenderness flow into his cold body warming and healing his tired soul. The old man's words seemed to wash away his worries. The monk had reminded him that while Castiel never met his father, he still stood up against Uriel and survived. In the end, the wicked was punished. His shaking belief stilled back to his utter conviction. These humans truly were his father's best creations and he would protect them with all his might, even if that meant dying for them.

"Three pages down." With a small pat, the hand withdrew.

For an instant, Castiel ached to return to the warmth. Instead, he flipped three pages forward in the old book. On the left page was a familiar image of an angel reaching into Hell to pull out a righteous soul. Yet, clasped to the man's leg was a demon wearing an identical face of the soul straining to keep a hold. Eyes flicking to the opposite page, Castiel felt a knot loosen in his chest.

Turning, Castiel spoke, "Thank you."

But the monk was already gone.

-----------------------

"You've painted up your lips an rolled and curled your tinted hair."

A pained moan pounded against the sealed black and red lips. The ends of long hair were drenched, dripping red onto the cement ground.

The off-key voice sang on, grinding onto her ears with annoyance. "Ruby are you contemplating going out somewhere? The shadow on the wall tells me the sun is going down."

A splash of water sizzled onto her sliced up arm. Black eyes flickered in agony as her muffled voice stuttered. Reaching out, Ruby watched as Dean used a rag and wiped away the holy water spreading the stinging sensation all across her sliced up flesh. Her shirt and jeans still hung intact but was drenched in water. It seemed Dean was only interested in massacring her arms at the moment.

Fingernails gone, red was a bright contrast to the blossoming blue and black swelling of her broken fingers. Each bone was snapped in half from her fingers to her wrists. All down her forearms intricate scribbles were etched onto her flesh just deep enough to draw blood.

Humming as he cleaned, Dean glanced up feeling Ruby's intense glare. Once filled with charm, the smirk whispered hints of horror still left untouched. Pausing in his ministrations, Dean reached out to wipe away a bead of sweat from the trembling forehead.

"Hey now don't worry, I'll be gentle." He couldn't help but run a few fingers through the damp hair. "I know this ain't Hell, it's just too dang cold up here. Alastair always said that was one of the downsides to the topside. The other was it was just concrete up. Can't butcher someone up and make them whole."

Lowering his hand, Dean focused his attention on the red-stained left arm. Crouching, he dumped the pink rag into the bucket of holy water rinsing it till the blood ran free into the water. Satisfied, he raised the semi-white fabric back up, dripping holy water onto the exposed feet electing a small bang as Ruby's head jerked into the stand.

"But I'm an optimist. And where Alastair saw hindrance," Dean ran the rag roughly over the open wounds holding back the full-blown smile as he watched Ruby's body squirm to get away. As white smoke drifted into the air, Dean lost himself briefly, scrubbing at one gash trying to wipe away a tiny piece of salt that had been logged when he had given Ruby a risen down with salt water.

"Where was I? Oh, right. See, I realized something. I was never meant for Hell. Too much competition," Dean shrugged his shoulders as if the statement was a known fact. "But up here…I don't have to report to no authorities at all. That and dealing with the constraints of a human corpse is a challenge I intend to succeed in."

Something croaked from Ruby's throat. Pausing, Dean tilted backwards to stare unblinking demonic eyes down at her. "What?"

A single syllable vibrated from her pale throat. Yet, the hunter knew what she had said. "Sam."

Ruby nodded weakly, taking in a deep breath from the small break. Relief flooded her mind, strengthening her weakening walls. Then all work froze. Before her, she watched as a change filtered over Dean's face. The playfulness from earlier vanished, leaving behind an empty void on the chiseled face.

Terror spread like fire in her blood as Dean seemed to coil before her. His body trembled with barely suppressed rage. Swallowing, Ruby found herself pressing further into the table, afraid of what she was witnessing. Alastair already scared her to death with his sadistic love for everything pain related. Lilith frightened her with talks of blasting her out of existence. But this… This unnerved her and that scared the demon who loved to be in control and manipulative. If she said one thing wrong, the black hellish flames flickering before her hinted at Dean's unpredictable nature honed into a torturer's skill.

This Dean wasn't the over-bearing older brother that could be easily provoked. Heck, he wasn't even the one that had crawled out of his own grave creating an uneasy truce between them. Nope, this Dean was something else.

As if pleased that he made his point, Dean blinked, the tension dripping off of him. Grinning ear to ear, Dean chuckled. "Sam…he's none of your concern anymore."

Turning, he resumed his work with the eagerness of a child. Ruby twitched and hissed through her nose every second as the rag touched onto her open wounds. Fresh tears spilt down, dripping on his shoulder like rain. Twisted enjoyment rang through him, building through his chest till he could no longer hold it in. Opening his mouth, Dean sang the song in his usual big-mouth annoying manner.

"Oh Ruby, don't take your love to town."

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A.N. If anyone is wondering, that song is "Ruby don't take your love to town" by Kenny Rogers I believe. I know, Dean probably doesn't listen to the guy, but it was the only Ruby song I know of. Well, till next time! Take care.


	20. Chapter 20

**A/N: **Oh lookey, dial-up up here in the middle of nowhere is working today. Yay:) I guess someone up there likes me.

**There's a first time for everything**

Hands broken: check.

Soles of feet burned: check.

Black hair hacked short due to annoyance: check.

Making his shoes dirty because of Ruby spilling her guts: just getting started.

Hours trickled by, mere grains in the hourglass as Dean meticulously tortured Ruby. It didn't take him long to find out some wounds were impervious to demonic healing. But somehow those burns and silver inflicted slices were the most beautiful against the white skin. Backing away, Dean eyed his work pondering where to mark next. The ribs would be an interesting obstacle to start with. Or even yet, he could simply go back to her feet and slice them into ribbons.

He had loved those coughed out shrieks and the thudding of her body against the metal table when the smell of flesh bubbling and burning filled the air. Nodding, Dean placed his hands on hips eyes falling down onto the feet. Yep, he would start there after he had lunch.

Smacking her cheeks, Dean waited for Ruby to stir from her blissful state. Cautious dark brown eyes peered under her lashes. "If you're nice, I might open your mouth a bit. Think about it."

With that he walked away, marching up the stairs and shutting off the lights leaving the demon to hang in total darkness. Locking the rap door underneath him, Dean eyed the large angelic and devil's wards painted onto the main floor of the hanger. They seemed to be in working order for no demons or Castiel had appeared to stop him.

Grinning, Dean gave himself a mental pat on the back. It paid off to be a bit paranoid. Stepping into an office, Dean pulled out a cold sandwich and a beer inhaling the food in record time. Torture wasn't an easy occupation. Glancing at his watch, Dean felt himself frown. He only had two more days left with Ruby then it was back to reality.

Crashing onto a swivel chair, he propped his legs on the desk, snuggling into the chair. A little nap wouldn't hurt him. Besides torturing Ruby for five hours straight would wear out anyone, even Alastair. Besides, he had to be careful with his new toy. It would take a few more hours till the most of the wounds were gone and he could begin again with the faint scars of before marking his path.

Down below, Ruby could feel herself slowly heal the corpse she now officially wore. Yet as each wound slowly healed up, she felt more and more the body slowly dying. She knew it wouldn't be long till even healing the smallest cuts would take too much power. After that, the body would reject her and she would be forever imprisoned in a zombie-like corpse.

Crying, Ruby screamed once more through her stitched lips into the pitch black. This was the only time she let the walls crumble. Screaming her throat raw, Ruby called out to her tainted, backstabbing brothers and sisters. She even cried out to Lilith. But no one came. In the desolate darkness that mirrored her soul, something cracked deep within Ruby. She realized that soon she would talk if it meant that she would be able to be free of this prison. It was in her nature to betray and preserve herself.

And it didn't help that Alastair's pupil was endless in his methods. What made it worse was that he was gently sometimes in administrating his pain like a lover. It was the same sickening technique Alastair prized but with Dean it was ten times worse because he knew he had to be careful with this human body. It meant he went extra slow, inching millimeter by millimeter every 30 seconds. She counted once to help keep her focused amongst the drowning agony. This was where, Ruby shuddered, Dean was an equal to Alastair. The patience at his movements was driving Ruby insane. Like he said, they weren't in Hell anymore. Topside was worse.

-------------------------------

Sam paced back and forth in front of the vending machine. In his hands, a green bill was twisted tightly like a rope. Frustration was building in him and it was all due to one man: his brother. Dean had called a few times, checking in on him in brief ten minute phone calls. Sam had been tempted to trace the cell, but Dean had taken his laptop. He would have gone to the library and trace it from there, but his babysitters didn't like him wandering too far or calling anyone for that matter.

Pausing, Sam shivered, running his hands up and down his arms. His fingers crawled inside his jacket, caressing the silver flask. The blood lose had quicken his withdrawal. Soon, he would need to call Ruby up for another refill. Fingers tightening over the flask, Sam glanced around before turning his back to the parking lot. Moving closer to the vending machine, the young Winchester decided that one tiny hit wouldn't be too much to ask.

Licking his lips, he began to pull out the flask when the crunching of rocks halted his movements.. Jumping back, Sam glared at Alexei. The woman stood on the curb, her eyes staring straight into him.

Snarling, Sam fought the urge to punch her. "What the hell, Alexei?"

Amusement shimmered in her eyes. "I was getting a bit worried about you. Thought maybe you have fell into a hole or something. It sure does take you a long time to get a coke."

Huffing, Sam crossed his arms, glaring at anything as he turned to face the parking lot. "I'm fine, needed to get some fresh air. Didn't think that was so criminal."

"Look, I know you've been cooped up for two days, but you're just now getting better. Take it easy."

"I. Am." Kicking at a rock, Sam stuffed his hands into his pockets. That was it. When Dean came back, he was going to kill him. What type of brother would put his own brother under house arrest? Hazel eyes scanned the parking lot, locking onto an old gray Oldsmobile. That car shouldn't be too hard to hot-wire.

"No offense, but you look like some stressed out student about to present his thesis." Alexei walked up to Sam's side, following his gaze onto the car. "Wanna talk? I promise I won't tell Dean."

"There's nothing I want to talk about," hissed Sam.

"Really? Cause," shooting her gaze up to their room, Alexei lowered her voice. "I think I know what your brother is hunting."

Sam's head shot to face her, eyes narrowed with the demand to know. Alexei stretched out her arm, sliding the dollar bill free from Sam's hand. Smoothing out the bill, she stepped back, reading the vast but mundane selection. "It's something big and he doesn't want you getting hurt."

The tall shadow fell over her as she decided that lemon cream cookies sounded good about now. "What is it?"

Feeding the crinkled bill into the machine, Alexei kept her voice level. "Before your brother called, Rick and I found some clues on what was released from the seals."

Sam felt his face pale, "The horsemen…"

"Yep. And from what I've been reading in the newspapers, there's one around here somewhere."

Fear shook through Sam. Crap, this wasn't good news at all. Like always, Dean was suicidal and went to hunt the thing alone. Usually, Dean was the sensible one, the one who liked to plan things ahead. Be prepared and well armed before jumping into a fight blind. So the fact that Dean would go off didn't fit his pattern. Then again, this Dean was different. Hell had changed Dean so much that sometimes Sam found himself questioning if behind the body, the soul in there was truly Dean or some other poor lad.

"Get your things, we're leaving. I'm not letting Dean to kill this creature without me." Sternness laced Sam's posture, but Alexei didn't move an inch.

Instead she bent down to collect her cookies. "And exactly how are you planning to kill a Horseman? By talking to it to death? Cause, no offense, you sure do talk a lot."

Sam's face darkened as he focused on the concrete curve. "Yes."

Alexei shook her head, disbelief shining on her face. Playing along, her voice was peaked with curosity. "What are you going to say?"

She popped open the bag, sliding her hand inside to snag a round, pasty snack. Before her, Sam seemed to draw strength from somewhere. His once pale complexion turned slightly golden in the mid-afternoon sun. Tilting his head, he locked his darkening eyes down at her.

"That they don't need to work for someone like Lilith. She's merely using them for her own agenda in breaking the seals. If they join me, I'll give them immunity as long as they help me find Lilith and teach me how to kill her."

Alexei's lips tightened, not pleased at the blunt speech. "And if they don't."

Sam's lips twitched briefly into a grin, "I'll kill them…" "_Just like Alastair_."

"With what again?"

Shaking his head, Sam sighed. He couldn't tell this hunter about his powers. He didn't need another fiasco like Gordon happening any time soon. "I can't tell you, let's just say these past few days I worked out the perfect solution."

Nodding, Alexei smacked her lips sarcasm lacing her tone. "Well, that was an awarding winning speech." Drawing her hand out of the bag, she brushed past Sam and tossed the entire bag into the trashcan.

Anger brightened his face. But Sam remembered his manners and glowering at her retreating back he changed the topic. "What's wrong with the cookies?"

Waving her hand, she marched forward. "They were moldy."

Walking up to the can, Sam peered down and flinched as he spotted the white fuzzy covered cookies. It seemed that someone hadn't been cleaning out the vending machine.

"You coming in or what? I'll help you out with that speech."

Sam sighed, his anger residing in the back of his mind. The speech did sound corny, but he was never the one for peep talks. That was Dean's skill. His brother could smooth talk his way out of anything. He even could get the most tight-lipped person blabbering out their most precious secrets. Shoulders' slumping, the Winchester made his way slowly back to the motel room where Rick was peering out of the doorway, listening to Alexei's quiet whispers. It was probably just an update on what was taking him so long. "Fine."

-----------------------------------

Defiance shone through the massive bruise swelling over the small right eye. Not caring in the least, Dean smashed his fist across Ruby's face relishing the crack of bone as blood exploded against the pale skin. Pulling back, Dean continued to pound his fists into the woman's body enjoying the brute physical contact. Sometimes a knuckle sandwich was better than the slice and dice routine.

Panting, the hunter pulled back taking a few steps. He had been punching the demon for a good twenty minutes softening up the newly healed flesh. Licking his lips, he reached out and took a swig from the whiskey bottle he had brought down. Leaning against his table, his black eyes swept over his victim pondering where to do the next damage.

Ruby sucked in ragged breath through her swollen nose. Her face was blue and purple matching the rings around her neck when Dean had tied a chain around her neck and began to choke her till she lost consciousness.

Her fingers twitched, the bones beginning to slowly mend but every time Dean would reach out and break them all over again. Her toes scrapped against the floor, the flesh beneath shredded into fine ribbons before being cauterized by the flame torch. Like Dean said once through her whimpers, he couldn't have her bleeding to death.

Tilting his head back, Dean lost himself in the burn of the alcohol. Today was his last day, for tomorrow he would have to leave. Lowering the bottle, the protégé of Alastair pushed himself off the table leaving behind the bottle. His free hand grabbed his new favorite knife. He couldn't help but grin that it was Ruby's.

Walking up to her silently, he waited till those dull but blazing eyes looked up at him. Her lips remained stitched despite his earlier promise of cutting them off.

"I think the foreplay is pretty much done with."

A soft moan was his only reply.

Reaching out, he ran Ruby's knife the center of her chest. She still remained fully clothed, except for the large slash where he had sliced into her intestines. The knife nicked at her shirt where her navel was.

"You want to know something?"

A weak shake of the chopped up raven hair brushed against the table.

Dean ignored her, cutting a new slice into the shirt. "I…didn't start to enjoy torturing souls till about my third year. It was a slow process really and a painful one at that. The first time, I was blubbering mess. After a few slices, I would be crying till Alastair said I was done. Then the moment he took away my razor, I would throw myself up onto the empty rack begging him to put me back on. I didn't want to torture anymore."

Dean carefully widened the cut making sure he didn't draw any blood from the newly exposed flesh. "But that white-eyed son of a bitch never listened to me. He'd drag me to the next soul forcing me to watch as he worked away. Sitting there; I realized what was hurting all of us damned souls: our emotions. So one day, I decided to stop feeling and it worked. Alastair was upset that I was becoming a robot. All actions but no reactions. It was worse than the crying and self-hatred from before.

And that's when he started…" Dean's eyes drifted away, pure terror melting the black into green. Ruby stared with horror as her torturer seemed to shrink before her.

Alastair had tortured her a few times and when she finally got off the rack, he paid her one or two visits to see her progress. And in those merger meetings, she witnessed first hand how brutal Alastair was. He had been the Chief Inquisitor for a reason and after those meetings, Ruby never wanted to have any associations with him at all. So, seeing how Dean had become the center of Alastair's life on and off the rack, a swell of pity went out to the hunter. It was amazing Dean had been functioning after his resurrection or that he lasted for 30 years on the rack.

Her own horrors from the past days flooded her mind. She underestimated Dean. To be in some sick bastard's life twenty-four seven, there was only way to survive and that was to appease Alastair in any manner. In turn, become the same twisted creature if anything for survival. She realized Dean did that on the rack by being a challenge, by not giving. He had hope that he might be saved and that was what made him special. Yet, once off the rack, with his hope being blasted into oblivion…

Dean's voice cracked, lowering so deep that Ruby strained to hear the rest of the story. She had a feeling that not even Sam knew about everything that happened. And for some odd reason, Dean decided to share this secret with her. "At the end of every day, Alastair would bring me to his private rack. Tying me back up, he would carve me up teaching me where I went wrong on my own body. I didn't scream while I was on there, only infuriating him even more. If I thought the first time on the rack was bad, this was worse. Don't know how long that lasted, I only know I wanted off the rack permanently this time so I started to heed his words. Didn't help that Alastair was the only one I was allowed to have any conversations with. Nicor visited me still but merely to gloat, silencing me every time.

Then after one long night after months of being forced to learn my errors, as the first soul of the day was placed before me, I decided to put Alastair's lessons to practice and expand on them. When I was done, I can still remember that proud look. It was a look that my own father once gave me before Sam almost died. For the first time, what could be happiness burned me instead of all the pain and hatred. From then on, I did everything right excelling in torture, soaking up every tidbit just to appease Alastair and not be put back on his rack.

And as I let myself feel happiness, other emotions came forth. Pain and despair at the creature I was turning into. Rage at Alastair, Nicor, Lilith, God, even my own father, mother, and even Sam on occasions fueled my creativity. I began to realize that only in Hell was I finally letting go all my masks, letting my walls crumple and live my own life. I began to see my victims differently then. No longer did I force myself to see them as wicked or mindless creatures. I saw them as my past self, the broken down, weak, loud mouthed Dean that had failed his family and wasn't worth saving. He was just Daddy's broken, scuffed weapon. And that was when I began to enjoy torturing the souls; relishing the blinding pain as they screamed through non-existent throats for with each wound they were only tasting just a slice of my own suffering."

Blinking, Dean raised his head, blackness returning, and leaned into Ruby's vision. He stared deep into her as if seeing the smoky demon of her true form. "And now it's your turn. You talk big Ruby, you always did. But you never went what I went through. You're just some runt demon swindling her way through the ranks, anything to escape the pain. But me, I didn't run. I embraced it"

He watched as Ruby's scream shot through the stitched mouth, head tilted back, tears running once more. Dean pushed the knife till the hilt was flush with her stomach. Drinking in her screams and sobs, Dean twisted the blade inside, slicing upwards ever so slowly. Voice low and husky, he couldn't break his gaze off of the withering form before him. "You have no idea how long I've waited for this…how I constantly asked Alastair to find you and drag you to my rack…to watch you beg for mercy…"

Blood spilling out onto his hands, staining his shirt, Dean let himself drown in the rush that he had held back since this whole thing started. Red filled his vision, but he wasn't drowning this time. Instead he stood in the ocean and commanded the movements of the blade with deadly accuracy as he began to carve Ruby.

------------------------------------

Castiel ran his hand down his forearms, watching as the deep cut mended together till nothing remained behind. Looking up, blue eyes swept over the cluttered storage facility. Special black candles were hidden in the four corners of the room. Along the windowsills and doorframes was a thin line of salt. He knew such a barrier would not work against Dean, but once the ritual was over, he needed to contain the demon. And in the center of the room was a red sigil he had painted with his own angel tinted blood.

The method stated it had to be the angel who raised the soul from Hell to spill his own blood. It had to be his mark on the soul's flesh to pierce through and rip the evilness that had weaved itself in. Sighing, Castiel raised his hand and muttered an ancient connotation vanishing the trap from human sight.

Squaring his shoulders, Castiel ran the incantation of the ritual through his head. He would need to be swift and sure, no pauses what so ever. Feeling a bit satisfied, despite the dread tugging at him, Castiel felt himself shudder as he thought of the next step. He would have to rely on Dean's trust, a trust that was only beginning to solidify.

The angel forced the thought of breaking that trust away and the consequences following it, when he felt the air shift. Swallowing, he turned slightly, eyes settling on the blue-clad business suit. "Sir."

Zachariah gave a curt nod, eyes sliding to where the invisible symbol lay. "May I ask what you are doing? You were given orders to aid your brothers and sisters in a battle over Junction, Colorado but I find you here instead."

"Something important came up," whispered Castiel, eyes darting to the floor as his superior walked with a confident glide over to him.

"This is a ritual for expelling evil from a mortal's soul. It is an ancient form of purifying." Zachariah locked his eyes. "Something beyond your rank, I might add."

Castiel's face tightened at the jab. "It's to help in the preventing Lucifer from rising."

"Really?" Zachariah's voice rolled in accusation, "I thought it was about Dean."

Blue eyes shot up, fear of being caught flashing over the angel's face. Castiel stilled his body, keeping his voice calm. "How-"

Zachariah smirked, "I saw the little demon in him when I cleansed the remains of Alastair out."

Blue eyes narrowed into slits, "You knew, then why-"

Folding his hands behind his back, the older angel replied. "Everything has a reason Castiel and Dean becoming a demon is just another step in him fulfilling his role." With a small nod, two angels appeared, flanking Castiel. "Sadly, Castiel, I cannot have you interfering anymore. You're becoming too attached to these monkeys."

Indignation swelled in the angel and for the first time he allowed himself to express his outrage. Stepping forward, he glared daggers at his superior. "If you allow Dean to remain a demon, his soul will forever be damned. He won't be able to stop the Apocalypse."

"But he will be able to stop Lucifer."

Reality stopped the beating of his vessel's heart. His superior didn't want to stop the breaking seals. He wanted Lucifer out and was playing him and the Winchester brothers. The shock must have shown for Zachariah chuckled, eyes glinting otherworldly in the light. "You were always too smart for your own good."

And with that, Castiel felt hands grab onto his forearms. An electric pulse hummed deep in his bones. The foreign feeling pierced him, gnawing at his hold on the body. They were dragging him back to Heaven. Grinding his teeth in an explosion of swearing white heat, Castiel did something else for the very first time.

He fought back.

--------------------------------------------

A/N: There you have it, another chappie. Later!


	21. Chapter 21

Disclaimer: Don't own, this is just merely to satisfy my own imagination.

A/N: So yeah...great things happened this weeked: back from no man's land, celebrated a relative's birthday, promo galore for Supernatural and a ribs feast. What more can a girl ask for? Except that she wished it was already September. And that's my pathetic little reason for updating late. Here are cookies for all!

**Cat on a Hot Tin Roof**

Cracking open her swollen eyes, the once snarky demon's mind swirled with agony and dread upon seeing at what her torturer would pick next. She didn't know how much time had passed, all she remembered was passing out when Dean began sewing her stomach shut. Confusion tugged painfully on her face when Ruby watched Dean crouch down next to his worktable, plugging in an old school answering machine from who knows where. Petting it lightly, he flicked the machine on, grinning when a small beep hiccupped to life.

Clapping his hands clean, the hunter rose, turning to face her. "Sorry sweetheart, but I gotta run." Nothing left to say, Dean winked once more at her before bounding up the stairs. The lights flickered off as a loud slam sealed Ruby within this twisted version of the Pit. Where the real one was loud and crowded with screams and whimpers, the heat blinding in all its fire glory; this Pit was entirely the opposite. Total silence with only Dean and her as the bone-chilling cold crept out from the cement walls turned the room into an ice-box.

Shivering in her ruined clothes, Ruby faintly heard the mighty roar of the Impala spring to life. Eyes scanning through the pitch blackness, she felt her breath quicken as her heart slammed into the fragile cage as the hunter drove off. Dean was leaving her alone in here. All alone with no food or water and demonic wards all over the place, she lay strung up in the dark with no light or sound. Eyes glistened in despair stinging the bruises and cuts.

History was repeating itself and this time there was no way out. Back in the day, after awhile in the Pit, Ruby felt confident that she knew the ropes in the place and began to do her own thing. However, someone mustn't liked her, and like a good little demon turned in his own kin. She was too rowdy and a smooth talker were the complaints. When word reached the Grand Inquisitor's ears it was too late for Ruby to try and flee topside. In a blink of an eye, Ruby found herself locked away for decades on end in utter blackness, alone with her thoughts, fears and crumpling humanity. Till all that was left was a vindictive demon willing to do anything for the first demon that would set her free. That demon was Lilith.

Tilting her head back, tears running down her cheeks, Ruby screamed through her stitches calling out for Lilith or any other demons that would hear her. None came. She was at the mercy of Dean. Twisting, she screamed out with her mind to the one person she prayed would hear her.

"_Sam_!"

Emptiness howled back at her. Even her toy was out of reach. And that scared her more. In a pitch black matching her eyes, a tiny part of resolve broke apart from the cracked core in those few precious minutes in the beginning of her worst nightmare.

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Dean parked the Impala in front of the motel room cutting off the engine. Taking in a deep breath, he let the heat from the afternoon sun soak into his body as he took a minute to recollect. To merely enjoy Life's small miracles like the worn-out leather steering wheel, the sound of cicadas humming, of Ruby's bound, bleeding form locked in the pit. Any evidence of his past days' activities were gone like the mile markers that flew by the muscle car. Hopping out, green eyes darted to the side, where a few doors down two men were in the mist of a full-blown fist fight, shoving each other back and forth while a woman hung in the shadows of the doorway their yells carrying across the desolate parking lot.

"Dean!"

Turning his gaze, Dean watched as Sam flew out of the room, his bag already in hand, face darkening with rage. "About time you showed up!"

Flashing that infamous grin, Dean leaned back, popping open the trunk just as the bag went crashing inside. "Glad to see you too, Sam."

"Don't you dare start with me!" Hands on his hips, Sam used his height to tower over Dean. "How could you go off and leave me behind? I mean, really, Dean, going after-"

"Hi Dean." Alexei's curt voice cut through the tense air.

Turning as one, Dean and Sam watched as the other pair of hunters walked with an easy gait up the Impala. Rick threw a glance over his broad shoulder at the men, who were full on fighting on the tarmac grunts and curses echoing off the ground.

Dean shot his brother a hard look. He did not want to argue in public, especially in front of other hunters. Besides, like usual, his brother had ruined a perfect day with his chick-flick moments. "We'll talk about this in the car…Samantha," he snipped quietly under his breath.

Sam bit back a growl at the old, rarely used nickname. But, he knew where his brother was going. The words that would be exchanged were for their ears only. Throwing his hands in the air, a disgruntled word snapped into the air "Fine." Marching to his side of the Impala, the younger Winchester fidgeted quietly as he waited while Dean finished off his business.

Dean shrugged his shoulders, an apologetic look flashing over his features as he focused on Alexei. "Sorry, hope he wasn't like that the whole time."

Alexei shook her head softly, "Nah. But he does think that you went off to hunt a Horseman. I had to tell him something to keep him here."

Closing his eyes, Dean pinched the bridge of his nose, already dreading the loud discussion that would take place. "Thanks."

As whispered words passed between them, Rick walked quietly over to a seething Sam. "There's something I've been meaning to tell you."

Dark eyes narrowed in on him. "What?" snapped out the cold voice.

"That speech you were working on, think about it as a political speech."

Baffled, Sam scrunched up his face. "Huh?"

Clearing his throat, Rick lowered his voice. "Picture it, 2009, some small hicktown USA. You got two big hotshots, Lilith and you. So, you gotta work on thinking what things you can provide the Horsemen with what Lilith can't. Threatening isn't going to work because that sounds a lot like how Lilith operates." Pausing, Rick watched as the explosion within Sam cooled off into realization. It seemed that the stubborn Winchester was finally seeing the big picture. Allowing a ghost of a smirk to pass over his lips, Rick added. "Also, keep an eye out on the left field..."

Sam's eyes stared hard at him with caution. "Left field?"

"You never know who might appear and steal the thunder."

Winking at Sam as if he just shared some massive secret, Rick walked back to Alexei who stood a bit off to the side. Dean gave a quick salute, wished them good luck and jumped into the car. He was looking forward to a nice long shower and some TV, but now he would have to wait till tonight. It seemed once again he put Sam's needs above his own. Some things never changed and Dean found himself grateful in that thought. "Come on Sammy, we're burning daylight. I found us another hunt."

"Right," mumbled Sam as he leaned into his seat.

Gunning the Impala, Dean waved out the car as he pulled back onto the main road. Alexei smiled back, waving till the black car was out of sight. Shifting, she glanced up at Rick who was watching as one of the men was beating the limp figure into the ground. "Think we'll see them again?"

"Yep."

Nothing more to say and not one to waste a free night at the motel, Rick and Alexei walked back into the room, shutting the door quietly behind them.

Watching as the small city he had spent four days vanish in the horizon, Sam let out a huge sigh. Clearing his throat, Dean gave a Spark Note summary that the creature he hunted was a vampire who might have posed a threat. Now miles apart, Sam stared incredulousat his brother who was humming quietly to a Blue Oyster Cult song his peppy attitude back in full force.

"Yep, when I heard it was nearby, I wanted it out of the way so you could rest in peace. You know how I hate sitting around injured with something that can kill us right around the corner."

Sam sighed, drawing out. A quick flash of Dean's proficiency at killing vampires made him chose his words carefully. "Yeah, but it did it truly take you four days?"

A sly smirk worked its way on Dean's face. And there it was, the one thing Sam knew was left out of the recap. "Well, there was a girl..."

A loud groan filled the tiny quarter of the Impala. Throwing himself to the side, Sam hid his clenched fist. Oh, he wanted to punch his brother hard right now leading him on like that.

Dean rattled on, enjoying Sam's frustration. "Let me tell ya Sammy, she had spunk and man the way she twisted that body of hers and the begging..."

The joking tone lightened the otherwise explosive atmosphere. Once again, Dean handled every situation with ease, making the tensest situations appear almost laughable. Covering his ears, Sam tried to fight the grin and whimpered, "No more, Dean, god the images. Just stop."

Dean belted out a laugh, throwing a playful punch into Sam's upper arm. "You're such a wuss."

"Hey, I didn't ask for your sex life, Dean," Sam threw back a heated glare but the small twitch of his lips did little to back it up.

Flashing those guarded green eyes with merriment, Dean let out a wide grin as if he was the cat that ate the canary. "Right back at 'cha."

---------------------------

Ruby pulled against her restraints, spilling damp blood onto the floor from her scrapes. Dropping her head, she took in a long breath fighting back the sobs. There was no way out. The bindings were fastened on too tightly. And even if she got out, her body was still healing on the inside from all the tears and cuts.

For the past…since Dean left, she hoped to take a break from the torture, to get her strength back. But isolation was shattering her from the inside and then Dean…he continued to pour salt on her wounds despite not being there.

The first time it happened had almost given her a panic attack. She had been caught off guard and the brief infliction was fast, not a minute wasted. At first Ruby didn't understand why but now—

A click and then a cheerful voice rumbled like a thunderstorm in the night. "How's my favorite pastime today?" He knew the five minute time restraint, knew that she couldn't respond. "Well, just wanted to let you know that I'm about a state away. And don't struggle too hard now; otherwise you might accidentally slice off your own hands. Then where would we be?"

A soft beep signaled the end. Left alone once again, Ruby's mind raced to find out the reason behind the calls. They were senseless with no patterns. How many times a day he called, she didn't know. Sometimes it would be long stretches before he called and others just a few heartbeats apart. Either way, Dean's voice always was optimistic, dripping with a giddiness that scared her.

"Mornin' sweetheart. You starting to feel thirsty? Let me tell ya, this large cold beer is excellent."

"Yummm, these French fries are awesome."

"So, guess what? Guess what? Guess what? Guess what?" A long pause and she can picture Dean's wide grin, "Killed three buddies of yours today the old fashion way: deep stabs with your beloved knife. It's the only thing that I love about ya, you can make one heck of a knife…or wait, there's something else but I know you can't scream for me. Tell me, how's the stomach?"

Then nothing but dead air…till about ten cycles later or was it thirty? Cycles constituted her waking up from one mind numbing darkness to the cold bleakness of the cement room. But still this meager attempt to keep track of time was unraveling her mind. Yet one night, things changed. The click of the answering machine pulled Ruby from her restless healing sleep.

"Rise and shine," hissed Dean's voice. "Can't let you fall asleep princess."

Ruby's bindings clicked softly against the metal. Her ears strained in the dark. There was something different about the call this time. It almost sounded hollow like he was on speakerphone.

"Say hi, you runt." A swift kick followed by an umph filled the machine.

"R-Ruby…don't you sayth a thi-thing. You h-hear me, you, you w-witch!"

Dull brown eyes snapped wide open as her mind heard the voice of the demon over the phone. Dread dragged out an adrenaline rush she never knew she had. Trashing harder, she stretched her mouth open sending tiny rivulets of blood running from her lips as the string cut into the pale flesh. "N-nm."

A scream pierced through the speaker. "That wasn't part of the deal," growled Dean's voice.

"May Nicor rip'th the flesh off thy bones in the ninth level of Hell!"

An exasperated cry loosened the stitches even more, her lips stained with pink. There was only one demon that talked like that. Todd. The medieval demon had been what Ruby dare call a friend. He had took her off the metal hooks and then later showed her the ropes of handling the Pit's hierarchy. Hell, he was her only contact with Lilith and knew the truth of her mission. Todd was her only confident. And now he was in the mercy of Alastair's twisted prodigy's hands as those screams were cut off as the five minute limit ceased recording.

"N-n-n…"

"He cried like a little girl." A hot breath caressed against her ear. Despite the heat, Ruby found herself freezing. When did Dean come back? How? He had just called from the machine!

As if reading her mind, Dean leaned in to inhale her musky scent, running a small peeler down her out-stretched left arm shaving away her soft hair. "Gotta love modern technology, recording is such a blessing." Backing away, Ruby felt herself shiver in response to losing Dean's body heat. It was so cold in here.

Draping his left arm around the rack, Dean swung in front of Ruby green eyes glittering in the light of a small flashlight. "Begged, screamed, the whole nine yards Ruby."

"I-" Yet her eyes finished off the threat, blazing with unleashed fury. Throwing open all the doors, she snarled and tried to exude her demonic powers to choke Dean to death in revenge of Todd. But in her weaken, starving and dehydrated body with wounds still aching from her last session, nothing but a faint breeze passed over Dean's body ruffling his short hair.

Dean merely licked his lips like a wolf cleaning his chomps before a dying elk. "That's it, what a shame." With a swift pull, he dragged the peeler up to her shoulder spilling fresh blood.

Screams rained down like confetti between the loosened stitches as Dean whittled away with the peeler.

--------------------------------

Ond and a half weeks trickled by during those random calls to a tied up Ruby. Dean grinned and chuckled as if knowing a secret joke that no one else knew about. As the Winchester boys traveled from town to town, they couldn't escape the mere fact of Dean leaving Sam. The grudge hung in the air like a dark cloud and like all clouds it gathered till wait remained was a large thundercloud grumbling with thunder and staining with lightening. It was no more apparent than in Sam Winchester.

Every day he called Ruby's cell hoping to here her annoying voice while Dean waited for him in a safe distance. Sam craved for her sarcastic wit to seduce him into a world where his actions were just and noble. He was the reluctant hero of the story, a modern day Luke Skywalker not wanting the burden of some great power but having to use his curse as a way to stop evil at all costs without falling to the Dark Side. Running his fingers over smooth silver, Sam eyed his last remaining back-up flask that contained about half-a-day ration if he measured it out right.

A freezing tremor ran through his body. Since the Adam fiasco, Sam had upped his hits from once every three days to once sometimes twice a day. He had to restock the depleted demon blood within him without drawing any attention. Every moment he felt his powers dwindle, flaring up and dying like being on a rollercoaster. On some hunts, he would be able to exorcise a demon no sweat but on others he barely would make them choke. It didn't help that those were the days when the cramps were painful and the cold sweats drenched his clothes.

Add to the list that Dean was watching him with a wary eye now. Ever since they left Alexei and Rick, his brother had once again lost himself into the hunt. It scared Sam at how easily Dean was finding demons to kill and seemed more at ease, almost beaming with happiness after each demon was sent back to the Pit. Unlike the first insane round when Dean had his Hell confession where his brother was wearing himself down into a shell, this time it seemed as if Dean was on an never-ending adrenaline rush and it kept on building. It was especially apparent when his brother disappeared for almost two days with no indication or explanation of where he went.

But Sam kept his mouth shut till a hunt went strangely off-track. They were hunting a simple low-life demon in a backwater town. It wasn't too hard to find the supernatural creation. Yet the image of the first encounter would forever be burned in Sam's mind.

The moment the demon saw them, instead of the common fighting, his black eyes widened in fright. Sam never saw such fear on a demon, even when he was exorcizing them. The one incident that came close was the shielded terror when Ruby described Alastair. Not even a quirky goodbye was thrown into the air as the demon turned and sprinted into the busy mall as if the devil was on his tail. Dean and Sam shared a confused glance before splitting up. Sam had no luck but Dean came back hours later and with a grunt confirmed that he got the sneaky coward. The youngest Winchester didn't know why but at that moment with the light shadowing Dean's face, those green eyes flickering down with an eerie coldness, he felt his demon blood twitch with something akin to trepidation. Something was wrong.

-------------------------------------

"I've been busy you know…" Dean rattled on, telling stories about the currents hunts, how he burned a couple corpses, spilled holy water on demons, carved up Todd till he was barely recognizable. Ruby tried to block out his gruff voice, squeezing her eyes shut. Instead, his words blared as if he was talking through a microphone, painting images of the horrors he did to Todd.

Whimpers broke through the air as Dean worked carefully in breaking down every defense. "Todd finally broke you know, told me he was your contact to your boss. Then he just had to go and choke on his own tongue letting the corpse die on me. After that, I had no choice but to kill him." Disappointment at his loss was punctuated as he snapped Ruby's thumb in half once-again.

Prying the blood soaked pocket knife up against her lips, Dean swiped across cutting away the useless stitches, watching with fascination as the tiny strands fell like ash upon the red floor. Focusing back on his prey, Dean stroked her forehead fondly watching those once stubborn eyes break before him. Darting out a pink tongue, he leaned into her face, black eyes boring straight into her soul. "Who?"

The low purr resonated deeply into the demon. Blinking slowly, Ruby wanted to run into oblivion but Dean's tight grip on her scalp kept her firmly footed on reality. She shouldn't have lost control like that. She had always been able to get under Dean's skin and he had done the same in riling her up. With all her defense blown wide open with rage, Dean attacked with such skilled ferocity in his blades and slanders that there was nothing left except rubble at his feet. She had opened the door and he walked in destroying everything in his path.

---------------------------------

Sam knew Dean, better than his brother knew himself. This whole endless chasing and disappearing acts…his brother was hiding something. And it was his role, like always to figure out what it was. Moving with the caution of crossing a mine-field, Sam questioned his brother. Where did Dean go during the nights? Why all the demon hunting? Who was he calling late at night outside of their motel room? Why the cautious glances whenever they passed a church?

The smell of smoke and alcohol hung heavily around his brother's form signaling that he went to the bar. But those eyes were always sparkling, not dull with Daniels. The nightmares were non-existent as well. Sam wanted to slap himself at why he had not noticed the small changes before.

"Where'd you go this time?"

"Told ya, the bar."

"Dean, I'm getting tired of playing this game. Now tell me the truth." Burning hazel clashed with calm green. Both brothers knew exactly where the conversation was heading. What really happened back at that motel, for it was no vampire?

Breaking his gaze, Dean stared blankly towards the curtained window, a familiar statement whispered with concern. "Where the hell is Cas?"

And that was that. End of discussion for the time begin. The dance resumed once more around the pair.

--------------------------------

Swallowing what felt like crushed glass, Ruby yearned for the isolation once more. To be left alone…to make something out of this mess. She wanted it to end. A piercing scream erupted out her sore throat. Ruby couldn't believe that her body could make such a noise as Dean cleaned her infected wounds with salted iodine.

"…L-lilith…" The name erupted half-scream from her torn lips. If that white-eyed demon found out about this, she was screwed but at the moment Ruby didn't care. She just wanted Dean to stop.

Dean halted in his wiping. Ruby gazed tiredly down taking in the shadow of smugness on the hunter's face. Instead of leaping for joy or blaring out his victory as she pictured he would, Dean resumed cleaning the wounds earning hisses from Ruby.

His face and voice were glacier, no pity or pride present. "Why?"

Ruby chocked out a yelp, cursing Alastair in her mind. The dead white-eyed Picasso would be proud of his warped Michelangelo at handling her confessions. "S-Sam…b-brea…last-t-t seal."

Nothing.

Pushing away, Dean's burning heat left, making the demon sag with relief. It was short-lived however when a rough hand tilted her head back as cheap soup was poured down her throat. Gagging, her stomach rebelled but Dean clamped her mouth shut.

"You need your strength." Dean's brisk words halted any objection.

Swallowing the semi-warm broth laced with holy water, Ruby let Dean feed her in the darkness as smoke sizzled out of her mouth. In her shattered mind, Ruby couldn't help but think that if Dean was like this every time she answered a question, then hell, she might tell him everything. As a silver spoon was knocked against her tongue making her gag, reality grinded back into Ruby. She barely had time to jerk her head before she retched out the meager meal. Disgust at her thoughts and weakness forced dry heaves out of her. No, that was all she was going to tell him swore the demon. This was it, no more.

Coughing, Ruby tensed waiting for her punishment at making a mess. "D-de-an?"

Nothing except the pounding of her weakening heart responded. She was once again left in the darkness with a battered body. Head dropping upon her chest, Ruby cried out but no tears were left in her. Dry gasps echoed in her cell. She was going to die now; there was no doubt about it. He probably left to get some new supplies. Besides, if it wasn't Dean, then it would be Lilith.

"St-stupid…st-up-id."

------------------------------

"It makes perfect sense," Sam's strained voice echoed loudly in the empty motel room. Staring up at the dark blue ceiling littered with glow-in-the-dark stars, a volcano boiled deep in the youngest Winchester. Dean was out once again and late.

Dark joy of success clenched Sam's fists at his sides as the name of a single person…or creature blazed brightly before him. "He knows."

Sam was used to not seeing the angel for weeks on end, so it made perfect sense that he would not think that Castiel was behind his brother's disappearances. Reflecting back now, he realized that Dean probably spent more time with the holy creature than he let on. Sprawled out on the bed, Sam let jealousy darken his vision.

It wasn't fair. He was the one that prayed constantly, so why the heck where the angels more interested in his brother. Moreover, why was Dean more willing to open up to that small man with piercing blue eyes than him? He was Dean's brother not that feathered bird brain.

Sam flung his pillow over his face to suppress his scream. This whole situation sucked. Today the shape shifter had died a quick death and the scowl Dean wore hinted at the older man's wish that the death had been slow and painful. Dean left shortly after, getting drunk over something he didn't know about. Or that was the latest story. A part of him hoped it was about Hell or past memories involving shape-shifters, but now Sam wasn't sure it was that simple anymore.

Something must have happened on that last hunt after Adam. Sam liked to pride himself in reading through Dean's lies and that one in the car was loud and clear. The growing concern over Castiel only added fuel to the fire. And tonight, drowning in the heat flashes of his withdrawal, revelation struck Sam. There was only way Dean would disappear without notice. And those times meant dealing with the Seals, which more likely led to the Horsemen resulting in more time with the neighborhood angel. It made perfect sense when he added the angel into the mix.

Castiel.

Another round of jealousy rippled down his arms, making his fingers curl into the sheets. That angel was the root of the change in Dean. It sickened Sam more than he liked to confess that this angel was healing Dean, making him happy than Sam. Those two were on hunts and that meant in Dean's case that he trusted Castiel enough to watch his back. His brother cared enough for the angel to lie to him about their excursions. Dean might dare regard Cas as a friend…have someone outside of Sam to protect him because Sam had done such a lazy job of it in the past. How could Dean ever trust someone who failed to save him from Hell?

Taking in a heated breath, Sam tried to stop the rush of anger and misery. He was on edge, a headache building up, making him snappy and hating everything at the moment. Even if that something was himself.

He was on fire, roasting alive with Hell's flames and his own damnation.

"Ruby, where the hell are you?"

-------------------------------

Dean stood quietly outside the hanger, hands tucked warmly inside his favorite leather jacket. The cool night air was brisk, hinting at the harvest that would soon occur out here in the country. Eyes staring endlessly onto the gravel road, the hunter found himself at a cross-roads. He could either return to Sam and put on the mask once again. But soon, Sam would figure the truth out. Oh, he recognzied Sam's twitchy behavior and impatience being tied to figuring out what he was doing. And something else, but he didn't know the reason as of now. It was only fair, mused Dean, that Sam feel what he felt after his return from the Pit.

Or, he could stay here and finish off Ruby. She was so close to be totally broken and telling him everything. Alastair had once remarked that once a victim began wailing non-stop, don't quit. For that was the time to pounce on them fully, to rip them apart preventing any chances to take a breath. Dean remembered all too well how effective that technique was...to be pushed to the brink and beyond.

Eyes narrowing slighlty, Dean ran a hand over his face. Exhaustion creaked in his muscles. For a brief moment, he felt like his old self: bone and soul dead tired. Lowering his hand, Dean flicked his gaze into the starry night sky. He was almost done, one more push. Then he could take a break from torture and just leave this life behind. Maybe, he would become a firefighter finally...

Taking in a deep breath, Dean drew upon his demons, letting the Pit embrace him once more. He would stay and finish off Ruby. It might take a day or more, but this was more important at the moment. With her gone, Sam would be free and safe once more. And that was all that mattered. A soft breeze blew by, the stench of rot filling the air.

Scrunching his nose, Dean's green eyes flickered black as he spun to the source. Irritation at being interrupted trembled down his form. However, once his eyes settled, he couldn't help but berate himself. How stupid could one be? Alastair would have set him on fire with oil for slipping up like this. "I should have known you had a high intolerance to silver."

Before him, standing a few feet away, fingers looped into the belt loops, Alexei flashed a pearly white smile. Her eyes seemed to glow with an unholy light in the pale moonlight. "Nice to _finally_ meet you face to face, Dean Winchester. I've heard much about you."

Dean's body tensed, his mouth forming a tight smile. "Same here...Famine."

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A.N. Talk about long and a lot of stuff happening in this bad boy of a chapter. I was a bit conflicted on if I should this revelation at the ending, but I felt it was about time and thought 'why the heck not'. Hope you enjoyed!


	22. Chapter 22

A/N: Sorry this chapter is late. Let's just say out of all the times to get a writer's block, it had to be now.

**Secrets in the Dark**

"_Dean you probably know the saying well, hell you're living through it right now," Alastair paused, his fingers seeping deeper into Dean's chest. Tilting his chin upwards, the white-eyed demon flashed his fangs. "If a deal's too good, then it probably is."_

_Dean gasped as a finger scraped against the inside of his rib. Tears streaked down his face but those green eyes mustered a rage filled glare at his tormentor. Nicor had visited him three tortures ago, filling his ears with burning oil all the while singing happy birthday. Dean had turned 29 years old. Nothing big, but stillsomething changed that day. An unnamed substance cracked deep in a place that the hunter did not know existed: 29 years on top and 29 down below. Next year, the hunter would be in Hell longer than he had been alive. It was mind-bending. He had never stayed in one place for so long and now it was excruciating clear. This was officially his home now. There was no hope for rescue or salvation. There was merely him, his rack, demons galore and Alastair. Always Alastair._

_Shifting slightly, Dean felt familiar prickles of a splinter of wood from his rack where Alastair had taken an ax to his leg. Underneath his right elbow was a smooth circle when Alastair dripped hot wax onto his newly mended flesh. Oh and then there was the perfect dent comfortable enough to rest his weary head in from the thousands upon thousands slams of his head upon the unforgiving oak. The rack was as old as he was…was him. Each grain, stain and chip spoke of his new life here. Heck, he spilled enough blood on that wood that it could technically be his relative._

"_Dean," Alastair's voice crooned over head. Green eyes drifted back into focus, locking themselves blankly at the demon. "There's my boy. Thought I lost you for a second. Now, where was I, oh!" With a powerful yank, Alastair pulled out Dean's appendix yearning an ear-shattering scream. "I've got four friends here and they're just dying to meet you. Oh, yes Dean, I brag about you to the others. I mean really, I'm like a giddy dad who had his son catch the winning ball. But I digress."_

Dean watched with guarded eyes as Famine walked carefully up to him. His whole body was posed for attack. Alexei eyed him with a sicking similarity to Alastair. "I didn't expect for you to know me already?"

"A little bathroom chat was enough," replied Dean with a curt voice betraying nothing. Actually, it was a lucky shot. That kid had told him that Famine was roaming around. There were the dead flowers to add to the mix. But that could have meant she was Death. So he picked one and dang it, he was right. Even without seeing her mark.

As if reading his mind, Alexei tugged at her collar revealing a burned pair of balances scarred in the center of her upper chest. Releasing her hold, Dean watched Alexei drift into a different person. Her eyes seemed to darken into pure black against the whites of her eyes. Curling slightly into herself, she took a deep breath eyes getting a drunken gaze.

"You truly are ripe for the picking Dean." Her voice was lower now, thrumming with an unseen power. "I mean look at you, you're like all four of us rolled into one."

The hunter scowled, widening his stance watching her as she moved around. "I'll take that as an insult."

Laughter rumbled lightly in Alexei's throat. Stopping to the side of the hunter, she shook her head in amusement. "Take it anyway you want. But I must say you are mostly like me than any of my siblings."

"Then you don't know me. I'm like the walking billboard for gluttony." Dean forced his face to remain neutral as his mind raced to find out where this was all heading.

"I'm not just about the physical hunger, Dean." Turning to fully face the hunter, Alexei peered deeply into those green eyes. "All your life you've starved for love, for approval, for any signs of affection. You pushed everything away to make Sam and your father happy, all the while starving yourself from the normal life." She watched with calculated eyes as green flickered with hurt. "Then in Hell, it only grew. You're like a beacon Dean and let me tell you I was a bit saddened that I couldn't meet you. But now, with Alastair out of the way…"

_Pulling out his bloody hands, Alastair draped an arm upwards running his dripping hand almost comforting through the caked hair. "One of them tried to make a deal with me, let her play with you for awhile and I get to see her tools of the trade." Sighing, Alastair gazed out onto his realm, watching as smudged smoked figures hunched over screaming souls within the thick red mist. "She doesn't do that often…once in an eternity opportunity." Turning, he leaned into Dean's face smirking as the soul tried to shrink into his rack while keeping a brave face on. "But I said no."_

"_Th-then you-re st-stupid."_

_Alastair tsked, "Am I? Guess so, but then again you can't do much with a bunch of scales. I mean really." Then a dark sly look befell the Chief Tormentor's face, "But do you know why I said no."_

_Dean's struggled with a frown, "Cause you're a egotistical bastard."_

"_That and you're mine Dean. There's no changing that now. You've been here too long. Tell me, do you even remember what the topside looks like anymore?" Pulling back Alastair watched as true anguish flooded those intoxicating green eyes. _

_Dean let out a long, quiet whimper as he mourned. He had hoped the demon wouldn't know but he couldn't hide anything from this creature. It was true, he barely remembered what beer tasted, the low thrum of his Impala or even the smell of pie. Even Sam's face had become blurred disappearing into a faceless lanky figure standing next to a broad-chest man and a slim blond woman in white. Hell was burning the memories of his past life out of him. Soon, Dean knew that he wouldn't remember anything, even Sam's name. And that scared him more than any devices Alastair could contrive._

"_But let's not dwell on that shall we," piped Alastair's voice. He hated seeing his favorite soul all doom and gloom. "I so do love our conversations. I feel that I can open up to you, bare my soul and all that crap." Curling his fingers, Alastair jerked open Dean's ribcage like a bag of potatoes chips. "I'm going to miss them, truly I am. You're going to break one day and become one of those mindless, tearing demons over there." Blinking, Alastair let his gaze focus back on those eyes filled with an emotion beyond pain. He let fake sympathy shine back. "I wouldn't lie about that, Dean. It's sort of a religious thing and it comes with the job."_

_Something dark sparked behind the pain, hardening those eyes into emeralds. Fortitude shone through the misty air telling him to shove his sympathy where the sun didn't shine. Quickly, Alastair tilted his head down hiding the smirk. There was his Dean, the same stubborn soul from day one. Oh yes, he knew Dean hated pity and that his boy wouldn't forget this talk. Nope, Dean would come down but he wouldn't turn into a mindless whelp. He was going to prove Alastair wrong, just like how he was trying to prove how strong and selfless he was. But that one moment when those eyes flashed, selfishness took hold and it would blossom under Alastair's careful tending._

"Enough with the chit-chat, what the hell do you want?" snapped Dean, his body itching to attack this creature for insulting him. Yet the skills ingrained made him wait it out. He still didn't know the full extent of a Horseman's power. Or in this case a Horsewoman.

Clicking her tongue against her teeth, Alexei resumed her circling like a vulture, kicking lightly at a rock. "I have a debt to pay, Winchester. The scale is out of place at the moment. Like the standard procedure said, cocky, blunt War was out first. Then comes Death, the gothic loner who whines and complains about being last. I follow in third and then as a final warning, Conquest is let out right before our boss Lucifer." Planting her hands on her hips, Alexei turned gagging at the thought of her older brother. "What a suck-up, let me tell you. He's always blabbing on how awesome it is to take over the world and how great Lucifer is. It's enough to-"

Alexei flicked her eyes downwards, taking in the dripping dagger sticking out of her heart. Tilting her head over her shoulder, she locked eyes with Dean's. "Was that really necessary? I'm not a demon." With a flick of her wrist, the hunter flew into the ground a few feet away sending a small dust cloud in his wake. Rolling her eyes, she reached behind her and pulled out the jagged dagger. Throwing the knife a few inches away from a stunned Dean, she continued as if nothing happened. "Anyway, that was the plan. But you and your brother prevented Death from rising. Thank you by the way."

Blinking Dean's confusion rang clear. "W-what?"

Smirking, Alexei tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, "Alastair was supposed to break the seal by killing two Reapers, but you guys stopped him."

"The scythe," whispered Dean, all the pieces slowly falling into place.

Alexei nodded as she watched Dean push himself off the ground, eyes soaking in the new information. "That's Death's MO. And mine's all about the scales. 'A quart of wheat for a day's wages.'" She sang lightly into the air, laughing at her own private joke.

The light bulb clicked inside Dean's head. The only thought running through the hunter's head was 'Holy shit.' He had a Horseman, an actual major baddie, in debt to him. It was something he never dreamt of, for most of the time he dreamt of Hell, torturing Alastair and Ruby.

As if reading his mind, Alexei rocked back on her heels. "That's right. Anything you want: Sam back to his old self, Nicor obliterated, Lilith no longer existing. You could technically end the war with us in one move."

"_It pays to have friends in low places_." Alastair's musing tone filled Dean's mind. The offer was tempting. He could finish it, like Castiel kept telling him. But he was an old dog through and through. And new tricks like these sent warning bells ringing. There was always a catch and he learned that the hard way. "_If a deal's too good_..." Taking a few steps backward, Dean held his stare onto the creature before him. "I think I'll pass. Deals never worked out in the past for me."

Frustration flashed on the possessed female hunter's face. She had thought this was going to be easy to get Dean into the race. He was a budding demon in the works. There was one never like him before, existing in his original meat-suit for starters. "This is not a deal, merely a gift."

Stepping back into the hanger, the elder Winchester flashed his infamous grin. "You can take your gift and shove it up your skinny white—"

The curse fell onto deaf ears as the whole building rattled against a powerful onslaught. Hunkering slightly down to cover his face, dirt and dust raining down on him he watched as Alexei's face flicker in and out with a drawn-in haggard look. Sunken black eyes fell down taking in the thick salt line tucked in between two thin rods of iron running the length of the entrance.

"I guess some things are just universal," coughed Dean, letting himself reveal in his small victory.

Famine narrowed her eyes onto him, anger radiating off the slim frame. "I'll give you one more chance, Winchester. War and I would rather listen to your orders than Lilith's and we all know what her grand plan is." Then in a blink, she was gone leaving Dean dusting off the grim from his jacket.

"Whatever," rasped the hunter. Eying the defenses, glad to see that his hard work remained intact from the unexpected onslaught, he made his way back to the pit.

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Lilith leaned back, splaying her hands behind her back to keep herself upright on the large white marble tombstone. Large carved letters spelling out the name 'Palmer' were hidden from the long white dress of the same vessel she wore back when she met Sam.

"That all you have to say?"

The deep timber voice vibrated into the marble, shaking up into her arms. Lilith blinked her white eyes, not liking the tone of her potential partner. "Yes. I don't really want to be the final seal, so I'll stop breaking them if you and Famine work for me. You won't have to worry about the others or your boss."

Blood-red eyes glinted in the pale light like rubies. A long black burn of a sword ran down the length of his forearm. Calloused hands rose up, rolling down the flannel sleeve to hide once more his identity. "That was always the problem with you Lilith: you're always saying one thing but doing another. You're a double-faced, two-timing pain in the ass."

Her red lips puckered slightly, a childish fit befalling the young woman's face. "Why do you always have to be so blunt, War? You hurt my feelings."

War let out a hearty-laugh scattering any remaining animals running for their lives. "You? The first demon, created by Lucifer himself, had her feelings hurt. Please." Throwing on his jacket, War waved a hand over his shoulder as he cautiously made his way out of the cemetery. "Call me when you finally grow a back-bone."

White eyes fumed, fingers grinding into the marble. "It's the Winchesters isn't it? I've heard rumors that you've been keeping an eye on them."

The man halted in his walk, but kept his back facing the white-eyed demon. Smiling at the brief turn of the tables, Lilith hopped off the tombstone, folding her arms across her chest. "Sam is one of Azazel's children and you know as well as I do, that he will finish off what that yellow-eyed lunatic started."

"From what I recalled, you were all too happy to join him."

"Well, he kinda left the information regarding the final seal out." Flickering a speck of dirt off of her vessel's smooth, grown-up skin, Lilith let her manipulative skills take hold. "And Dean. He's nothing, just a shadows of his former self, despite the circumstances. Besides, he's got angels on his side."

Gazing over his shoulder, red clashed with white, sheer happiness radiating off of them. Flashing pearly white teeth, War chuckled quietly. "But that's where the fun is." In a strong breeze tainted with the stench of decay, blood and gunpowder, War vanished from Lilith's sight.

Frowning, the first demon felt the urge for the first time in a long while to scream. Her plan was falling apart all around her and she could do nothing to stop it. Sure in the beginning, she wanted to raise her leader but like she told War, she hated the whole 'last seal' business. Adaptive as ever, Lilith decided that maybe the best course of action was to prevent the Apocalypse from happening, create a tiny peace treaty. Go back to the good ol' days.

Even that plan was faltering now. The Winchester brothers were ignoring her, Ruby went missing and now the Horsemen were rejecting her. White eyes narrowed into slits as a slithering smile snaked onto her face. There was a way though to fix everything, to make Sam focus his attention back on her. He had been close to saying yes when Dean's life was in danger. Maybe he would do so again. Besides, she couldn't let a trouble maker like Dean get away with everything.

The crunching of boots echoed softly in the damp grass. Turning, she watched as a strapping young man with spiky blond hair and piercing sky blue eyes dangled between his lips a dirty cigarette, its' smoke curling into the night air. Reaching up, manicured fingers pulled the cigarette downwards, tapping away the ash as the eyes rolled back into white.

"Where have you been?" snapped Lilith.

The demon cocked his eyes, a mischievous glint to them. "I was having fun."

"Nicor, now is not the time," impatience laced the woman's tone.

"Yeah I could see that clear as night in your discussion with War." Inhaling another drag, the new Grand Inquisitor walked up to his partner. "So tell me, why the blazes did you call me up here? I've got a Hell to run."

Lilith giggled quietly as she glanced around the cemetery. The coast was clear. Locking eyes with the new leader of the Torture division, she felt a tiny stab of grief. Never in a thousand years did she mourn for a demon. But Alastair was different. He always there, loved every minute in Hell and didn't complain once unless it interrupted his work greatly. Hell had been fun then. Nicor was different. He was bit more stern and eyed Lilith with caution. She was the reason why Alastair was dead, why he could never reverse the tables against his dead mentor.

"It's Dean."

If the name affected him, Nicor only flickered his gaze upwards into the night sky, enjoying his cigarette. "Wow, what a surprise."

Lilith licked her lips, taking a tiny step forward trying to gauge the demon's reaction. "He's whole again."

White eyes slid down staring into the grass as if the rotting corpse below was going to spring free any moment. Curiosity tugged on the young face. "Whole?"

"In his last act, Alastair managed to reunite Dean's severed soul." Stabbing her nails into the soft palms, she added quietly. "Guess he was the favorite in the family."

Nicor's face fell, the forgotten bud dangling between his fingers. A distant look encompassed his void face. Lilith feared that she might have lost him when a low voice mused with fond memory. "So that's where the little runt went."

Blinking, Nicor focused back onto the present staring into Lilith's eyes as his own reverted back to blue. "Let me guess, you want me to drag him back to the Pit."

Curling a strand of hair over her finger, Lilith shook her head gently. "Not yet. I merely want you to occupy him till I can win over Sam."

Nodding, the master torturer took in a deep swing, finishing off the cigarette. Blowing out the smoke lovingly into the crisp air, his lips stretched out a long thin smile. "No."

Surprise flashed over Lilith's face before anger lit fires. "Why not?"

Gazing at the woman as if she was mere student, Nicor lightly tossed his bud into her white dress sending ash bellowing into the shape of a blood stain. "You might be the first, but your expertise doesn't cover torture." Turning to full face her, he pushed forward not showing an ounce of fear as Lilith stood silently before him. "If what you say is true, then my irksome playmate is finding his footing again in torturing up here. Clever if you ask me. But in the long run, stupid. He never was one for understanding the big picture."

"What are you saying?" hissed the serpent that was Lilith.

"He's going to get caught soon, either by his brother or by the angels. Either way, they're going to rip his soul or purify him it will save him. Instead, when looking back, Dean's going to fully shatter this time." A blissful look fell over him as a warm shudder ran down his spine. "He'll be drowning for all eternity in his guilt."

Despite the happy thoughts, Nicor felt a tiny knot unravel deep within him as Lilith quietly pondered his words. She hadn't obliterated him yet. That was good sign. Fighting to keep the terror in control, he kicked himself for playing the suicidal role. This wasn't really him, heck that's how he survived for so long. It's just that somewhere along the way he had picked Alastair's possessive streak and if anyone was going to willingly drag Dean back into the Pit then he was the one on his own terms.

Taking in a deep breath, Nicor flew out of the dead-meat suit without a second glance. He didn't moving till he was back in the Pit with a fresh new soul on his rack and nice long distance between him and the Devourer of Children. Topside, Lilith watched with wary eyes as the corpse fell before her, landing with a sound thump. Was she fated to walk this path? Was Lucifer making her uphold her end of the bargain despite being locked up?

Sighing, Lilith pouted, arms crossed over her chest. Fine. If she truly had to die, then she would do so with style. Off in the horizon, she spotted the first golden rays of the sun rising. It was time for breakfast and she really wanted a child all of a sudden.

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Sam stalked out of the last diner in the small town, his face tightened in irritation. Dean was no where to be found and it was already past morning. The constant headache and nauseous tightening in his chest only pushed him further into a thin thread of existence. His whole body was trembling gently underneath his clothes. This was almost like having a hangover and a cold at the same time.

Pausing at the small intersection in front of an ally, Sam pulled out his cell phone. Flicking it open, he dialed a familiar number, his eyes staring down the street. The same old greeting graced his ears.

"The one and only Dean Winchester, here. I like long walks on the beach, beer and women. If you want a good time leave a message, otherwise call my annoying brother Sam—" Sam shut the phone, his face darkening despite the bright morning.

"Dean," he rumbled out, wishing his brother was in front of him so he could give him a piece of his mind. This whole situation is driving him crazy with confusion. How had things gone south? One moment, he had Ruby then in a blink of an eye there was Dean. He had two of the most important people by his side. Then in one instance, they're gone. Ruby disappeared and Dean kept leaving him.

Leaving him.

Alone to face his demons.

Guilt swelled in Sam as he remembered all too clearly his own nightly adventures and how he left Dean all alone to deal with Hell. It was a stupid thing to do, he knew that now. Felt it with every pound against his temple. Another powerful shudder clenched his body, slamming into the corner of the brick wall. Panting, he hugged his chest riding out the searing red waves. It hurt to breathe. Hurt to exist. He needed blood and fast. More importantly though, Sam realized as he floated through the attack, he needed Dean.

He needed his brother back.

Gasping, eyes he hadn't known were closed cracked open. Pain receded leaving him a shivering mess. God, he felt like one of those junkies he always passed on the streets. He probably looked like them too, with his disheveled and sickly appearence. The scuffing of shoes behind him pulled Sam's head upwards. Turning, his bleary hazel eyes scarcely made out the bus driver before a fist slammed into the side of his head sending him flying into the ally.

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A/N: And there ya go. Thanks for all the great reviews!! They keep me motivated and a good cure against writer's blocks :)


	23. Chapter 23

Disclaimer: Don't own the awesomeness, that belongs to Kripke and the CW

A/N: Finally, after all the hype and everything, we finally get a peek at Mark Pellegrino. Yessssssss. I've gotta say out of everything for Season 5, I am stoked to see him. He played freakin Jacob for crying out loud. *pants* Gagh, so close so close.

**Gone Hunting**

Sam staggered into the ally, his knuckles scrapping over the rough cement wall. Before him the bus driver's eyes blinked black as another demon joined him behind in the body of a garbage truck worker. Pushing himself upwards, Sam took in a deep breath trying to steel his body for the upcoming fight. The old Sam would sneer out the question of where was Dean when he needed him? But the Sam that survived through four months of Hell without Dean by his side merely saw an outlet for his rage at the world.

"You know, I expected a bit more. It's kinda of a let down," sneered the bus driver, his heavy footsteps crunching into the ally.

His buddy snickered behind him, peeling idly at a piece of crusted ice-cream on the blue uniform. "I betcha he misses his mommy."

The hurtful remark made Sam flinch inside, but he kept his mouth tight. Sliding his eyes down and to the left, the hunter spotted a rusting nail lying near the large brown dumpster. Rolling back his shoulders, he lunged himself to the bin. The bus driver was quick despite the massive size. In a second, the demon's rotting breath was by Sam's side slamming a meaty knee into his gut. Stepping back, the driver didn't halt his attack, flying his fist into Sam's temple again sending the young Winchester crashing into the dirty ground.

"You're pathetic." Pulling back his arm to deliver another punch, the demon thug grinned revealing a row of yellowing teeth. "Too bad your-"

A chocked scream cut off the rest of his threat. Sam twisted and pushed the nail harder into the exposed ankle till the head was flush with the pale skin. The driver's body's jolted, lurching hard into the dumpster, yelling at the top of his lungs. "You brat! I'll freakin skin you alive!!"

His hands twitched and scratched at the nail as the spasms ranked through the meat suit. The iron rusting of the nail was seeping slowly into his blood. Not to mention he couldn't even get up.

Sam let himself smirk a little, separating himself from the driver to focus on the remaining demon. Raising a hand, he reached out feeling demon encased with the host. Finding the blazing fire wasn't hard. But where it was easy once to encase the fire and push, the black flames dance through his imaginary fingers.

The demon dressed in blue chuckled, taking a step forward when a shot rang through the ally. Falling to the ground, curses rang through the air as the demon trashed around. Clawing hands scrapped along his back as if trying to get something off of him.

"Move it!" Sam looked up and watched as Rick cocked his rifle again with a fresh round of rock salt. Seeing his chance, Sam bolted out of the ally, Rick right behind him shooting off a warning shot into the bus driver.

"Red pickup!"

Spotting the truck, Sam jumped into the passenger seat as Rick flew into the driver's seat. Tossing the gun into Sam's lap, he revved up the engine and speed onto the main road. It was ten minutes off glancing in the rear view mirror for any other demons and cops before Rick eased up on the gas pedal. They were now driving casually through a winding neighborhood. Huffing out of his adrenaline, Rick gazed over to his quiet companion. "You're one lucky kid, you know that."

Sam reached up along his face, wincing at the cut from where the fist pounded onto his skull. "Thanks."

Rick shook his head, "I mean what the hell were you thinking standing there and raising your hand at a demon?" Pressing down on the pedal, he gently passed a pattering Cadillac. When no reply was shot back, Rick scratched the back of his head. "Either way, is there a place I can drop you off, maybe where Dean is?"

Sam shook his head slightly, running his fingers over the shotgun finding comfort in the cold barrel. Such simple technological had saved him when his powers had failed. Eyes soaking in the worn out but shiny smooth trigger, Sam grinded his teeth. He was becoming too dependent on his powers. As if realizing the topic, a small headache began to rise in the back of his mind. Not wanting to dwell, he watched a concerned look make its way to him.

"You ok?" The deep voice rumbled like the engine.

Not wanting to drown himself back into the withdrawal, the Winchester countered back. "What are you doing here?" As much as Sam liked to be open at first to people, the mere fact that he had run into the hunter again seemed a bit suspicious. It didn't help that Rick's last words seemed to hint at something beyond his reach.

A guarded look flashed over the crinkled face. "I've been following a trail of bloody bodies."

"Really?" The answer threw Sam for a moment. He wasn't expecting such a response, picturing a statement along the lines of hunting demons or collect intel.

Rick pointed his chin towards the folded map on the dashboard. Leaning forward, Sam picked it up eyes tracing the red dots. The older man's voice filled the silence. "Some sicko has been on a killing spree. They're pretty gruesome too. It's like they've been tortured and then discarded."

Sam peered closer at the dots. "No clues as to who?"

"Thing is he cleans up after himself."

"Cops don't know about it?"

"The bodies are either buried or burned…mostly burned. But there were a few that were buried as if the person was in a rush. Let's just say, the bugs had their work cut out for them." A dreary silence filled the air. "Also, it's random. It took me awhile to see the link, but I think these people were possessed by demons."

"Then how-"

"Symbols painted on the ground are washed out, but if you look hard enough you can make out that they're for keeping demons ins."

Sam frowned, "Devil's traps."

"Yep." Rick took in a deep breath, concern hardening his face. "This means, we got a hunter that snapped on our hands."

Staring hard into the map, Sam felt his body cringe at the notion. It was like having Gordon all over again, chasing him down because he thought he was the Anti-Christ. Scratching his neck where Gordon had tried to strangle him, hazel eyes widened as a pattern became clear.

Rick shot a glance over at him, not liking the pale complexion. "What is it?"

"In the middle," Sam licked his lips, foreboding crashing down on him. "All these places, they're all either one to three towns away from where Dean and I stayed. It's like whoever this guy is, is following us."

Shaking his head, Rick snorted. "You Winchesters sure do attract a lot of attention."

Sam scrambled to pull out his phone, "Pull in at the Blue Bell motel, room 45."

Rick nodded, turning the pickup to its new destination. "Who you callin?"

Dean's name launched towards the edge of his tongue, but something deep within him knew that Dean wouldn't answer his phone. The towns were so close, a trip Dean could make easy with the Impala on those 'bar' nights. Disgust welled up in Sam. How could he think his brother would do something like that? He remembered all to clearly Dean's pleading voice to the angels not to torture Alastair. Dean would do anything not to become what he was in the Pit. Then why couldn't he shake off the nagging feeling. Clearing his throat, Sam replied in a gruff voice, "Bobby." Then afterwards, finding where this creep was, he would call Dean and they could join up and take this crazy hunter down. Cause his brother was innocent.

---------------------------

He used to hate it when women screamed and cried and begged for mercy. Their shrill voices made him cringe. An urge would take over to reach in their and cut out their tongue or crush their voice box. He still hated it. But this…

He loved this. Ruby sang beautifully. The changes in tenors were exquisite as she screamed louder and louder till no sound came out of her open mouth. Stepping back, Dean walked over to his table wiping his bloody hands clean. "Tell me again of this plan, Ruby."

Ruby's haggard voice rasped through the abused cords. "Y-you kn-ow wh-what I said."

Dipping his blade into the bowl of holy water, Dean began cleaning his weapons. His face remained transfixed on his movements. "I want to hear it again."

Blinking painfully, Ruby coughed out a mouthful of blood. "L-Lilith wants S-Sam to kill a powerful demon-n to b-break the f-final seal."

Dean laid the knife lovingly beside the bowl and picked up another tool. So far, Ruby's retellings had remained constant, which meant she wasn't lying or that she was a pretty dang liar. "And how's Sam supposed to do that?"

"Hisss po-wers." Ruby dangled her head tiredly against her chest. She didn't care anymore. All she wanted was for Dean to ram that knife into her and kill her finally.

Dean shook his head, lying his hands onto the table staring up at the stairwell. "See that's where you're wrong. Sam's not an idiot. But…" His broad shoulders sagged as he remembered Castiel telling him that his brother had killed Alastair. "He's getting stronger and I want to know how."

Ruby's old spark made her tug her cracked lips into a ghost of a smirk. "Ne-ver gonna t-t-tell."

Sliding cold green eyes, Dean took in the battered and sliced form of Ruby's body. Physically, she wouldn't last long, a week at most. Her demonic healing powers were too weak now to heal the body and replenish the lost blood. The frightening pale skin glowed eerily in the light.

Blinking slowly, he gazed down at the bowl staring into his rippling reflection. No longer was there Dean Winchester the hunter or Dean the PTSD survivor of Hell. All that stared back at him was the creature he had become down in the Pit. He was a demon but not a full demon, something in between that was attracting creatures from all over like the Horsemen. And he didn't give a crap.

Running the pad of his thumb over the edge of the knife, Dean resumed cleaning his tools in silence. At his side, Ruby hung limply in her chains vowing to herself that she would never reveal the whole drinking demon blood issue. By her vague and scattered recollections, she guessed Sam had to have run out of blood and was now experiencing a painful withdrawal. And in such circumstances, Ruby could only hope that Sam would be driven by his addiction to hunt her down. Yet, it was all about timing and as another painful wave passed through her battered body, Ruby could feel her meat suit's body ticking down. She had a scary feeling that even her demonic self wouldn't have the energy to carry-on anymore.

This was the final lap and Dean was miles ahead.

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Sam gazed down on at the stretched out map on the table. By his side, Rick was checking over the weapons, making sure each rifle and pistol was clean and bullets were stocked. Finally, his phone buzzed by his hand. In a flash, he was talking without pause. "What you got?"

"Got?"

The rough voice filtered into Sam's mind. Surprise and relief flooded his face. "Dean."

"Yeah," exhaustion made its way through the line. "Saw you called-"

"Where the heck are you?"

"Ugh," There was the sound of rustling in the background before Dean carried on. "Don't know, I think its' some chick's place."

Sam tried to repress a frustrated sigh, "You got drunk again didn't you."

"Maybe…"

"Well whatever, just be ready to hunt. I've got a big one here." A loud beep sounded signaling another call. Sam glanced down and saw Bobby's name flashing at him. "Look, Dean, I'll call you back."

"Whatever," muttered Dean and it sounded like he was going to pass out again.

Not waiting, Sam pressed a button going straight to the other line. "Bobby?"

"First off, whoever this sucker is, he doesn't want to be seen." Irritation filled the older hunter's voice. "He was a pain in a butt, but I finally think I know where's he located at the moment."

Sam sent a confirmed nod at Rick, who rose to walk over to the table. "Ok."

"It wasn't easy," Bobby seemed to want to make Sam realize how much effort had gone into tracking the rogue hunter. "I had to reverse a few spells to search for voids instead of concentrations. And what would you know, there's one void a few hours away from you up in the northern part of Illinois."

Grinning, Sam quickly jolted down a vague address. "Thanks Bobby, I owe you one." Clicking his phone shut, he scanned back up on the map trying to look for the fastest route. "Bobby could only give us a general address around the city of Galena."

"Either way it's a start." Rick pushed back as Sam folded the map. Grabbing the bags, he gazed back at Sam. "You want to contact your brother again, tell him where to meet up with us?"

"Yeah, I'll call in the car. How about Alexei?"

Rick paused at the door, a dark gaze falling over his face. "She picked up another hunt and headed east."

Hazel eyes narrowed slightly as Sam watched Rick leave the motel room. It seemed a bit strange that she would just leave like that. Then again, this whole situation was off. Redialing, he waited for Dean but was greeted again by the voice mail. Letting out a growl, he threw on his coat and marched out of the room.

------------------------

Bobby gently tucked away the crystal orb back into the cutlery draw. Trepidation beaded on his brow underneath the trucker hat. Warning bells were blazing loudly in his head. Whoever he had sent Sam to was dangerous. The brief summary Sam gave him only lead to one conclusion. Whoever this was, was a damn good hunter...besides being a sicko. Really, torture. Where was the world coming to?

He couldn't help but think back to when he helped the boys track down Lilith. It was the same thing all over again. Rushing head first towards some powerful creature, knowing that they might not make it back was an experience Bobby never wanted to go through again. Then again, he knew deep in his gut during that whole experience that he would lose the closest thing he had to a son. Still, Bobby prayed and joined the boys on the hunt, hoping that maybe Dean could be saved.

Yet, his prays were unanswered and the cocky, selfless idjit went to the Pit a blazing smartalec remark being his last words. His chest tightened in remembrance of the dark four months he drowned himself night after night in liquor bottles trying to stop his bleeding heart. It was his wife's death all over again.

Then one day, there was Dean on his doorstep looking up at him with hope filled eyes. His son raised from the grave in a spakin new body, unscarred except for a burning red handprint. Even with all the precautions taken, Bobby let himself rejoice that Dean was back, happy when the lost brothers reunited and finding himself comforted by Dean's bold acts. He should have remembered that nothing good happens without a price, even involving angels. The day after the Witnesses, he spotted a hooded look befalling Dean underneath the mask. And as the days turned into months, every time he saw the elder Winchester, the more haggard he looked. Dean looked like he was breaking but still he fought to keep up appearances.

Thankfully, things changed after their retelling of 'A Wonderful Life'. Dean seemed happy, that haunted expression gone. Everything was good again. Sighing, he ran a hand over his beard not liking the familiar rise of concern building in him whenever those Winchester boys went off to fight against something. Truly, being a father figure was not all that it was cracked up to be.

Turning, Bobby slammed back into his kitchen sink. Before him stood a tall figure, the trench coat was ever present, blue eyes peering up at him from behind wild raven locks. Next to him, a petite woman with graying hair blinked wide brown eyes up at him the simple red summer dress a bright contrast to the beige coat.

A curt voice spoke with hidden power. "We need your help, Bobby Singer."

Bobby swallowed, not making a single move. "I remember you. You're the one who knocked me out in the barn."

The pale face tightened slightly, "I am sorry, but I had to speak to Dean alone. My name is Castiel."

As if the formal introduction would ease the tense air, Bobby chuckled lightly. "I know who you are, but Dean's not here."

The woman flashed her eyes upwards, with what appeared to be a sympathetic expression tugging her lips down. "They've noticed." Blinking her eyes to Castiel, she stared hard at her companion. In that moment, Bobby realized that this small woman was more powerful than Dean's angel. "I will buy you time. But you must be careful now, Castiel. You are a wanted angel." Then in a soft flutter of wing beats, she was gone.

Bobby cocked his head, "Wanted?"

Eyes as dark as the sea fixated back at him, "It is…a long story. But what is more important is that your help is needed."

Swallowing, Bobby pushed himself away from the sink. "For what exactly?"

A troubled look spilled from the angel's face before schooling itself into a mask of determination. "It's Dean."

And that was all it took for Bobby to grab his coat and keys before flying out of the door and into a random car, an angel right by his side.

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A/N: Till next week!!


	24. Chapter 24

A/N: Supernatural is back :) Love the premiere and already waiting for the next episode cause Ellen's back!

**Run into the Light**

Sam hopped out of the pickup as Rick killed the engine. The weight of his pistol gave him assurance as he took in the abandoned hanger. The gray lackluster building sent shivers down his spine.

"Hey," snapped Rick quietly. "I got some tire tracks here. I'm gonna follow them around back. You check inside."

Sam nodded and the two hunters walked silently away from each other. The sun was setting off in the horizon bringing with it the clinging warmth of the day. Groaning back the large sliding door, Sam's face tightened as the white lines of rock salt and iron glittered up at him. This was the place. After an hour of searching, they finally found it.

A part of him reasoned with the hunter. This person was torturing demons, killing in an efficient manner. Sam could see himself in this guy. They both were going after the enemy. Except Sam's victims tended to live while this hunter had no regards for the poor people that were possessed. Not to mention, sooner or later, this hunter was going to catch the attention of the police and bring the whole law enforcement bearing down on the hunter community.

Sighing, Sam shook his head clear on the destructive train of thoughts. He had to stay focus. Stepping quietly into the hanger, the younger Winchester crept quietly against the wall hugging the shadows. Off in the distance, black lines danced across the cement painting two massive traps. One clearly had the triangular shape hinting at its demonic origin.

Inching towards the offices, hazel eyes took in the small section of offices. Crouching down, Sam glazed over the wrapper remains of some fast foot joint. Beer bottles curled in a corner. Running a finger over the edge of a desk, Sam rose slowly up taking in every inch of movement left behind in the dirt and dust. There was a lot of movement and from the repeating boot prints, there was one distinct set meaning one hunter. Good.

Turning, Sam followed the clean line watching as it disappeared in front of a thin crease in the shape of a rectangle. With an easy heave, he lifted up the door watching as the lights flickered on. Deep inside, he saw chains hanging from the ceiling and what appeared to be the corner of a work-table.

"Jackpot," whispered Sam. Squaring his shoulders, the tall hunter crept down the small set of stairs into the twisted lair.

----

Outside, Rick skimmed his hand over the smooth metal of the Impala. The car was a beautiful piece of work. He could still remember the low thrumming of power as the classic car purred eagerly in the parking lot. Oh how he wished such a rarity was in the color red. Then it would have been perfect.

Voices trickled in the air pulling Rick from his musings. Patting the car gently as if he was stroking the mane of a horse, the hunter walked causally toward the noise. A few feet away, behind a makeshift shed was Alexei leaning against the teetering metal wall as Dean was crouched on the ground wrestling iron stakes from a dead plant bed. His dark blue tee-shirt drenched slightly in sweat, the elder Winchester growled as the soil clung to the stake.

"Am I getting closer?" Alexei's voice backed up the warmth of the evening.

Wiping the sweat off his brown, Dean glared coldly at the woman. "Don't you have somewhere else to be?"

Black eyes shimmered in glee. "Nope. Till Lucifer's out or we swear our allegiance elsewhere, I'm just stuck on the sidelines. Besides," Alexei grinned as she watched Dean plant his boot on the stake and slowly place his weight on it, pushing it backwards. "You're amusing to watch."

"Glad to hear my life is HBO to you," White flashed behind the smile as the soil gave way. Bending down, Dean twisted the metal around before yanking it out cleanly from the ground as if the soil was soft flesh.

Alexei tilted her head back, resting it against the warm wall. Crossing her arms, she watched as Rick approached them. "What are you doing here?"

Dean gazed over his shoulder, caution posing his body into a defensive posture. The iron rod hung limply in his hand, but Rick knew that in a second that rod would be used as a weapon with ease. Shrugging his shoulders, the elderly man stopped before the pair. "I was getting bored. Besides, junior here left behind a trail."

Anger flashed on Dean's face. "My name's not junior." An urge to finish off saying that he was Indian Jones halted on his tongue, yet he couldn't help but chuckle mentally.

Alexei gazed up into the sky, soaking in the dark red and orange colors blending into a purplish hue. "What did you tell her?"

"That I'll think about it, but…" Rick slid his gaze onto Dean, anticipation rippling behind the stoic mask.

Dean swallowed, not liking how he felt as if he was the center of attention. He hated being in the lime light. Forty years under Alastair would do that to a person for usually attention meant pain in some shape or form. Flicking his gaze over to Alexei's relaxed form, he rasped out wishing silently that he had a beer. "You too?"

Smirking, Rick rolled up his sleeve tilting the wrinkled skin sideways. In the dying light, Dean soaked in the blacken burn of a sword. "War's the name and bloodshed is the game," rang Rick's voice.

Scoffing, Dean crouched down collecting three other iron rods. "Just my luck, listen, go bug Lilith or some other power hungry demon, I've got work to do."

"Not anymore you don't."

Rick's curt voice snapped Dean's attention upwards. "What?"

Alexei narrowed her eyes over her partner's shoulder towards the hanger. "You didn't come along."

"Nope. Sam Winchester is in that building-"

"Idiot," snarled Dean as he sprung to his feet, the soft clanging of forgotten iron rods rolling on the ground. Sprinting past the two Horsemen, Dean ran for the backdoor. He couldn't prevent Sam from finding Ruby, but he had to stop his brother from finding out that he was the torturer.

----

Ruby heard cautious footsteps inch their way down the stairs. Eyes flickered underneath swollen lids trying to make sense of the fuzzy images before her. Her lips trembled as her weak heart pumped hard against her frail chest. She felt herself scattered throughout the meat suit, being deluded and waned out of existence. There was too much holy water, salt and that damn knife's magic in her.

"Ruby."

The soft tone made her cringe, shrinking back against the metal. Before her all she saw was a dark form. And for the past eons of her existence here, that form only meant one person. "N-no…"

The form lunged at her. Without hesitation, Ruby screamed in terror, her body jump starting way ahead of the pain. Tears ran down her redden cheeks as a large hand engulfed her mouth to muffle the screams.

"Sssh, Ruby, it's me…Sam."

The deep soothing voice surrounded her from all sides, drawing her out to him like a moth to a flame. She could barely sense him but right in front of her was that addicting darkness. Blinking away her tears, Ruby peered underneath her lids. And there was Sam's puppy dog face staring down at her with wide, concerned doe eyes, two little moles dotting his face and that moppy hair finishing the look.

"S-Sam," croaked Ruby through her cracked and swollen lips.

Relief blasted across Sam's face. "Just hang on ok, I'm gonna get you out of here." He reached out and began to quickly undo the bindings.

"S-Sam."

"Yeah?" croaked Sam as he tried to remain focused on the task at hand. But it wasn't working. He could hear the rattle of chains as they rocked back and forth. The stench of blood permeated the air. Everywhere he steps, he heard the crunch of dried remains mixed with ash and salt. And the sight…the table full of gleaming tools and symbols.

Then there was Ruby. Her petite form was beyond recognition, a shivering mess behind blood mattered hair, her shredded clothes and limbs beaded with cold sweat. And the fear behind those lost eyes…and the soul-piercing scream. This wasn't his cocky, smug Ruby.

"Drin-k."

Sam glared at the woman, "Now is not the time."

Rolling her head to look up at Sam, a ghost of what could have been a smile passed over her lips. "It-a demon…"

"A demon did this to you?" whispered back Sam, his words forceful backing up his growing anger.

"L-lith."

"Lilith sent a demon to do this to you?" hissed Sam, his face crowding over hers.

Ruby nodded, pain glazing over her eyes. "Too close…" Taking a deep breath, she lifted her right arm slightly where Dean had sliced fresh cuts into not too long ago. "Do it."

Licking his lips, hazel eyes travelled down taking in the slow moving stream of red. "But you-"

"I'll be fi-ne," whispered Ruby. Her voice had been shaky but something hardened the word into stone. "Y-you need t-to be str-ong. Drink."

Watching as a tiny drop pooled at the edge, Sam felt his addiction override him. His body tingled with urgency. It had been too long since he felt a rush. Power called from him, telling him that time was running out as that single drop broke free falling through the cold air.

Without pause, he lunged forward bending slightly to catch the drop mid-fall before surging upwards and enveloping that sweet cut. Ruby sighed as she sagged back feeling her blood leave her once more. But this time, none of it was wasted on the ground. No. She could sense Sam's powers build, humming with electricity. Ruby couldn't help but smile as she closed her eyes.

"_Take that Dean_," laughed Ruby. "_I might win this race after all_."

Bliss filled Sam's hungry mind. His body buzzed with whispers of new tricks and promises. Never has he felt this way before with his sessions. Drawing in another piece of heaven, a thump sounded loudly behind his sensitive senses. Releasing his grip, Sam spun around mouth ringed with wet blood. Dilated eyes snapped opened with shock as they took in the stoic build of his brother.

Dean stood rigidly by the stairs, layered only in his tee-shirt with dirt covered jeans. Green eyes stood out against the paling face, an emotionless mask falling over the wave of disgust and fear that was rising.

Swallowing, Sam pushed away his high, wiping his mouth clean on a sleeve. "Dean," he whispered glad to find his voice level. "What are you doing here?"

Dean's mouth merely tightened into a thin line. Sam let the frosted glare burn right through him before those jaded eyes rumbled over to the limp body of Ruby. _Ruby_.

"We need to get out of here." Turning, Sam quickly undid the rest of Ruby's bindings. Scooping up the demon, he took in a deep breath as fear clenched his heart. Ruby felt too light, her bones peeking through the untouched remains of her pale skin. It was going be hard to fix Ruby up this time. She might even need a new meat-suit.

"Sam."

Dean's cold voice pulled Sam back to the present. Blinking upwards, he watched Dean nod his head upwards. "This way."

Smiling weakly that Dean hadn't exploded at him from finding out his darkest secret in the most inappropriate manner, Sam followed silently behind Dean. He couldn't help but crease his forehead, noticing that Dean wasn't packing any heat. Thankfully, though, tucked underneath his shirt, Sam spotted the familiar bone-handle of a certain knife. It was was slightly strange seeing Dean in this ruffled appearence. Stepping out into the vast area, Sam paused behind Dean as they neared the main door. "We're gonna need to take out that salt and iron."

"Yeah," whispered Dean. Was that sadness laced in the word?

Sam stood quietly behind Dean's hunched form. Dean merely stared at the lines, his only defense from letting people entering his play house. He should have known his fun wouldn't last. Whenever he wanted something or finally had something that was solely his own, Life had to screw him over. Not once but twice with Sam's blood drinking.

Closing his eyes, Dean's soul screamed into the shattered night sky. Blood. His little brother was drinking demon blood. Sam was a freaking vampire. Dean could handle the demon blood from Azazel considering Sam had only been a baby. But this…

With an angry kick, he sent salt and iron spilling out onto the now blue toned outdoors. Heaving deep breaths as if the very oxygen was being ripped away from him, Dean heard Sam's heavy footsteps approach him. Darkness filled the hanger casting even darker shadows on the smooth floor.

"We gotta go before this crazy guy shows up." Naivety laced Sam's tone. It sounded as if Sam was still Sam but the burning memory of his mouth ringed with blood smeared the innocent image away.

"Right," muttered Dean. Fingers curling, he pivoted and slammed his fist hard into Sam's face.

---------------------------

The tattered together remains of a Chevy car roared down the interstate ten miles over the speed limit heading to the address Bobby had found only a few hours ago. Inside, Bobby tugged his hat down as far as it could go, sparing a glance at his silent companion. Castiel sat rigidly in the passenger seat, posture screaming out the soldier in him. But those ever-piercing blue eyes stared endlessly through the side window and into the night. The old hunter could practically hear the hasty prayers that must have been running through the angel's head.

Coughing lightly, Bobby watched as Castiel finally blinked. "So mind telling me what the hell is goin' on here? Like why I've got a wanted angel in my passenger seat?"

"The angel that was with me…"

"Yeah?"

"Her name is Sealtiel. She…helped me escape." Shame reflected off of those eyes with a ferocity that scared Bobby. He had heard a snippet from Dean that angels couldn't feel emotions, but he also could sense from Dean that the boy didn't believe it for one second. Now, Bobby saw why. When those robotic angels did decide to feel, there were two options: hints that would make a poker player envious or all the way. Just full blown punch to the gut.

"Were you captured by demons?"

Castiel shook his head softly, "By my…other angels." The eyes fell down locking themselves on the hands that were playing with the belt from the trench coat. "I was going to help Dean but my superior decided it was best not to interfere."

Confusion scowled on Bobby's gruff face. "Why not?"

Blue eyes shot upwards as if afraid that he was being watched or might be struck by lighting on the spot. "I cannot say…" Those eyes traveled downwards till they rested on Bobby. "We must hurry."

"I'm going as fast as I can, boy," Bobby spoke with an irritated voice. "Besides, if it was so damn important why don't you just beam us there?"

"Because I must lay low while Sealtiel tries to find out how far..." Castiel watched as confusion bled into anger stemmed from Bobby's worry for the Winchester brothers. Pursing his lips, the angel turned his gaze back to the black sky. "Sealtiel is an archangel so she does not have to follow my superior's orders blindly. But she still has obligations in having to be careful about whom she accuses or risk being dragged back to Heaven."

"Which is where you were?" The soft nod was Bobby's only confirmation. Risking a hand to leave the rattling steering wheel, the hunter scratched at his beard. He knew a bit about the military structure, particularly from John Winchester, and it seemed those same cautious rules and regulations applied for angels except being ten times more enforced. "Why is this Sealtiel so interested in helping you?"

"She is Dean's archangel."

Bobby's eyes widened. "Dean's got an archangel?"

"Yes, but she could only interfere once to protect him in the direst circumstances. Sadly such an instance has passed."

"Great, just like Dean to use up his lifelines before he really needs them." Glancing at his companion, Bobby was about to ask about what Castiel was doing to get dragged back to the Pearly Gates when Castiel's head snapped upwards staring straight out in front of them.

"What is it?"

"I can no longer sense Sam." Turning to fully face Bobby, the angel gazed sternly into those tired brown eyes. "Listen, Dean…is different…you might not like-"

"Listen here Blue Eyes, you ain't givin me the 'you might have to do something drastic' speech. We're going to save those boys and bring them home." Facing back front, Bobby pushed the gas down to the floor, hoping that the car would hold together. Grinding his teeth, Bobby let out his growing frustration at the angel. "Y'idjit."

Castiel blinked ducking his back against the window to hide the ghost of a smile. Maybe there was hope after all.

------------------------------

Sam Winchester didn't know what hit him more or less what happened in the past few seconds. One minute he was cradling Ruby in his arms the next a fist slammed into his jaw sending him flying backwards. Crashing hard, he flinched as his back burned against cement. Rolling to a stop, Sam could only lie there stunned watching stars blink and out existence.

Dean straightened up, staring lifelessly at his fallen brother a few feet away. If he was his old self, he would be yelling right now. And after his little Pit stint, he would be shedding a tear or two. But this time, he felt the weariness return full force. Closing his eyes, Dean tried to push away the crushing waves of suffering yet all he saw was Sam hunched over Ruby's arm, drinking her blood.

It was a horror movie that wouldn't stop playing. Endless loop after endless loop played before his tormented soul. The film froze every time at Sam staring with wide eyes, blood dripping down his chin.

"_Make it stop. Make It stop. Make. It. Stop_!" screamed a young voice into the endless blackness of his soul.

A whimper offered salvation. Black boiled to piercing white. Blinking, Dean slid dull eyes down to the trembling form of Ruby. The demon had flown out of Sam's grasp landing on the ground a few inches away. The impact must have woken her up after playing Sam's blood bank.

Turning slowly, he watched with growing interest as Ruby crawled weakly towards the small passage of salvation. Hisses and grunts flew past her cracked lips as some grains of salt made contact with her open wounds. Oh how he wanted to sneer down at her pathetic form, that black smoke pushing and pulling each tendon and muscle to move, for it was too weak to escape its' meat suit.

With his back to Sam, Dean reached behind him sliding the cursed knife out, caressing it against his back like a lover's touch. Behind him, Sam groaned clawing back to reality. Pushing up onto his knees, Sam touched gingerly the blossoming bruise on his jaw. What the heck? Why had Dean—

Snapping his gaze upwards, Sam watched as the broad shoulders of Dean shifted into focus. He watched as Dean's right thumb rubbed against the hilt of the knife as he took tiny steps behind Ruby's crawling form towards to the door.

"Dean!" Without hesitation, his body flying into full-blow instinct, Sam stretched out his hand. The demon blood pumping loudly in his ears, Sam stretched out his powers flying towards the weak pulsing of Ruby and the thunder of the demon possessing Dean.

Fear clenched around Sam's heart. Dean was possessed. His worst nightmare, something he wanted no one to ever experience since Meg, was unfolding right before his very eyes. Gritting his teeth, Sam rose to his feet readying himself to pull the demon out. Then he would burn it out of existence. No one touched his brother, no one. Squinting his eyes, Sam bent his hold onto the demon ready to sink his claws into the smoke.

Nothing.

Disbelief illuminated his stricken face. Reaching again, he clawed at the thick forest of smoke within Dean. Yet every time, his mental fingers scrapped lightly against frost-touched coal surfaces. Unlike the other demons' whose forms were more like searing gas, Dean's was solid ice against Sam's attacks. Snarling, he slammed his powers against the black marble.

As if sensing his onslaught, Dean cocked his head over his shoulder. Huffing, Sam twisted his hand in the air. Nothing happened internally, but externally the whole world stopped spinning. Dean's eyes rolled into pure black, the edges tinged slightly gray by blinding white rage. Knowing sparkled off them as harsh light of the luminescent bulbs crackled on spilling truth across the gray floor. Pink lips quirked upwards into a smug smirk on the smooth, freckled face of Dean Winchester.

Dean wasn't possessed. This was the real him. The creature he became in the Pit.

Shock ran cold through Sam's body. His lungs ceased to breath. His heart slowed down. His mind lost itself. There was nothing he could do as the memory of Alastair emerge behind Dean, standing in front of a dust layered banister. Those piercing eyes sparkled with amusement at the feeble attempt to exorcise him. A slimy arrogant grin stretched across his face as he laughed out a cough.

"_That tickles_."

Lowering his hand in a daze, Sam watched as Alastair faded away while the grin ghosted onto Dean's face. It might not be an exact match, the smirk every inch a Dean Winchester patented smirk. But the arrogance and the knowledge that Sam wasn't strong enough was all there.

Blinking, the smirk vanished as Dean slowly turned his focus back on Ruby. Blinding desperation enveloped Sam. Air filled his lungs. His heart sped up, pounding loudly against his chest. His mind snapped hard at what he had to do. Lunging forward eager to stop his lost brother, Sam screamed out once more. "Dean stop!"

As he took two leaps forward, he yelped as hands grabbed each of his arms slamming him chest first into the cement floor. "Let me go!" Boots scraping against the floor, Sam tried to push himself upwards but the two pairs of hands holding him down were like vices. Throwing his head upwards, surprise lit his face.

Rick and Alexei were crouched on the floor, holding him down as if he were nothing but a small child. Off to his left, Rick winked red eyes, the whites a stark contrast, down at Sam. On his right, Alexei smiled warmly at him with endless black eyes to match Ricks. Tilting her chin up as if being called, Alexei gazed up Dean's still form. Sam looked up as his brother soaked in Alexei and Rick's positions.

His brow slightly furrowed, lips tugging slightly into a frown, Dean contemplated this new change. He hated having to be in debt to someone. Then again, Alexei might consider this the gift and then this whole thing would be over. She would leave him alone finally.

"This doesn't count." Alexei's soft voice boomed loudly in the hanger.

Dean snorted, "Figures."

Returning his full attention back down, he hummed in approval to see that Ruby had finally clawed her way to the doorway. She was already halfway through the passage, salt and iron to one side and a stubborn wall to the other. Freedom was a hair breathes away. She was close to the finishing line. Resuming his baby steps, Dean stalked up to his prey.

Behind him, he heard Sam screaming bloody murder at the top of his lungs.

"Dean!" Was that a whimper? "Don't does this! Dean this isn't you?" Anger laced his begging tone now. "Dean, stop!"

Dean merely continued to walk, the knife swaying playfully between his fingers. Sam couldn't hold it anymore. He sent out one more powerful blast of his power, screaming at the stop of his lungs, a few tears of pain and grief trickling down his cheeks. "Stop!"

"You've got one loud, annoying mouth, Sam." Rick's voice snapped. Without warning, a hand grabbed the back of his hair. With a powerful slam, War smashed Sam's face into the floor.

Groaning in pain, eyes tearing up, blood spilling out from his broken nose and split lip, Sam watched through a fading watery lens as Dean crouched down over Ruby. Harsh neon light spilled out into the dirty driveway etching Alastair's pupil against the night sky. His legs on either side of her body holding the demon in place, Dean raised the knife into the air as Ruby trashed beneath him. Bloodcurdling screams were the last thing Sam heard as oblivion dragged him away from life's nightmare.

Dean had won the race.

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

A/N: Sometimes I found myself wondering if I need help in how I come up with these scenes.


	25. Chapter 25

A/N: War rocked in last week's episode.

**Boys will be Boys**

The scuffing of thick heels against gravel trickled into the hanger. The cold night air permeated the open hanger, yet inside he was an inferno. The raspy snarling of Rick rumbled loudly with no context. The Horseman was talking about something with no pauses or faltering over words. Famine remained quiet for once.

Rolling his shoulders, Dean closed his tired eyes. Instinct screamed at him to go outside and find out what they were planning now. But his gut cringed tightly as the after effects of killing Ruby held sway over him. The world seemed different now. He breathed in sulfur, the Pit's flames warmed him and everywhere was blood. Upon looking at the two creatures outside, he saw their true horrific faces.

Famine's hollowed out face with never ending hunger, empty eyes framed by deep black purple circles as faux frailty flickered off of Alexei's body. War was a mess. Hair drenched with red liquid; face streaked and splattered all the while holding a wolfish grin that shouldn't belong on Rick's grandfather face. Dean couldn't even begin to imagine what the others looked like.

Swallowing, he rubbed gentle at his temples, the pounding headache slowly easing away. Dean was too tired to move. The blinding wave of murdering rage left an empty husk behind for the time being. If a whole army of demons came pouring into the hanger, Dean realized he wouldn't even put up a fight. Because really, what the point of living anymore? What was the goal anymore to continue when the reason he walked this path to damnation was running right along side him?

A moan as familiar as his own pulled his normal green eyes upward. Sam's distorted face when he had peered over at his struggling brother pulsed before him for a split second. Thankfully, the broad, chiseled face focused into view. Perched on edge of a desk, Dean watched with a dead gaze as Sam painfully woke up. Tied to a chair, the younger Winchester was in an open area where it would be easy for Dean to keep an eye on him. The door leading to the basement remained open behind Sam, a quiet warning and reminder of what Dean was capable of now.

"D-Dean," coughed out Sam, his blurry eyes shadowed by long bangs.

Gentleness whispered into the still air. "Sam."

Relief spilled onto Sam's face washing away his numb mind. For a brief second everything was back to the good old days where trust was permanent and there was no need to hide secrets. Back when... Reality burned away the bright expression on Sam's face leaving behind a scorched hurt-filled glare.

"Ruby?"

Dean shifted on the desk, flicking tiny specks of dirt off his jeans. Flashes of a six-foot grave and laying the plant stakes on one of the shelves near the door fast forwarded before him. "Out back with the rest of the trash," he replied in a factual tone.

Lips tight, Sam's body shook with barely repressed grief and anger. He should have known it would come to this. Dean and Ruby were always butting heads, but he had hoped that maybe it would have stopped. Ruby had saved him, been there at his darkest hours. She made him feel powerful when every day he could only remember how he had failed his brother. Eyes narrowing to hold back the flood of tears as Ruby's final screams blared loudly in his mind, Sam found himself snarling. "Dean, you gotta stop this. Now."

Dean's face remained impassive. "How'd you find me?"

Sam pursed his lips. He couldn't say anything about Bobby. Shifting in the chair, feeling the rope scratch against his chest and arms, a dark thought sprouted in his mind. Eyes falling down, he took in the tight bindings as he moved his pinned arms behind the chair. Even his legs were tied securely to the chair. He heard an abrupt thump lightly against the beaten wooden surface of the desk. Gazing upwards, calculated eyes took in the tip of a knife as it twisted into the grain. Traveling upwards, Sam found himself locked underneath Dean's penetrating gaze as his brother absentmindedly played with the weapon. It was so Dean, minus the coldness emitting from across the small gap.

He had to be careful, for all he knew this Dean would hurt him. Sam already lost more than he could count to the demons. Like hell was he going to lose Bobby just because he couldn't handle a bit of pain. "Rick. We followed a trail of bodies." There, he should be safe for now with the partial truth.

A dead smile ghosted across Dean's face. "I was wonderin about that."

Dread trickled through Sam's arms, as he twisted his wrists against the tight rope binds. "How long have you…" he paused, not sure if this was safe ground, "been like this?"

Breaking contact, Dean stared at the bone handle, fingers twitching as they seemed to count off days. "For awhile, but if it means anything, I didn't start torturing till after Iron River."

Shock must have radiated off of Sam remembering the teenage boy he left with Dean back in the bathroom. Dean snorted quietly. Running a hand down his face, the older Winchester's hollowed eyes bore once more into Sam. "How long you been drinking demon blood?"

Sam turned his head to the side to look out into the vast hanger, rolling his shoulders in discomfort to mask his attempt at loosening the bonds. He hated this glacier calmness coming from Dean. It was unnerving not to see his brother yelling at him. Clearing his throat, Sam felt his mind being to drift towards the demon blood, trying to find ways of how to replenish his supply now that Ruby was gone.

Then a small glint caught his eye. Turning, Sam watched as the golden amulet swayed from Dean's chest. Disgust hardened within him. No. He would worry about the demon blood later; right now Dean was his number one issue. "Whatever this demon-"

A tired look befell Dean's face as he tucked the knife away. "I thought you _saw_."

The emphasis on the word halted all thoughts in Sam's mind. "You said…"

"I know what I said, that I would never become this…" Dean swallowed, sniffing as he fought to remain disinterested. "monster again. But things change."

"Oh really?" Hidden beneath the resentment, Sam trembled in anguish waiting for those familiar eyes now aged beyond their years to fade back into murderous black.

Gazing down at the open pit with disturbed longing, Dean ran a finger over the smooth silver ring. "I had to protect you Sam. It's my job and I couldn't do it being all broken and grieving." Eyes darted up to meet his brother's face. "You…"

Sam let his face tighten. Resentment laced his words. "What? Wouldn't understand? Come on Dean, what do you think I'm doing! Why I keep using my powers?"

"That's not the same," hissed out Dean, his anger flashing to the surface. Pushing himself off the desk, the older hunter stalked his way to the tied up figure. "I'm beyond saving, Sam, the moment I got off the rack. But you…you never were, even with the demon blood."

Shaking his head, Sam tried to reason with his lost brother. "It's not about me anymore Dean…with Lilith-"

In an explosion, Sam watched as something flipped inside Dean at the mention of the white-eyed demon's name. Throwing himself an inch from Sam's face, black smoldering eyes shimmered briefly white. "Lilith isn't your problem, Sam. She's out of your league."

Meeting the heated glare with his own, Sam matched Dean's growl with an even tone. "Not if I-"

"What? Drink more demon blood like it was Gatorade?" A hand clawed upwards curling itself on Sam's dark blue jacket. A murderous glint bore down on him. "Then let me guess, you gonna burn her out of existence like you did Alastiar?"

Hazel eyes blew wide open. "How-"

A twisted smirk curled on Dean's face. "A little bird told me." Peering endlessly into Sam's eyes, recognition pierced through the blood-rage curtain. Uncurling his fingers, Dean pushed himself away as if Sam burned him. Green swelled with guilt at the mere thought that he was an inch away from wanting to make his little brother bleed. Taking a deep breath, Dean turned his back and stared with tormented eyes out onto the hanger. "You can't take on Lilith, Sam."

"Yes I can! You just have to faith in me."

"Trust me, she's not like your average demon." Memories of a small little blond haired girl danced before him.

Sam watched as broad shoulders slumped downwards in a gesture eerily similar to when Dean would when he gave into something. Realizing his chance, Sam let sympathy fill the air. Ruby always said he had a knack for winning people over and now this was the big one here. He had to convince Dean to let him go and more importantly get rid of the demon in him. But how was he going to do that when Dean seemed immune and didn't want to be saved? Sam's throat tightened at the thought at how broken Dean truly was.

Fighting to keep his voice calm, Sam whispered softly. "I know Dean. Lilith is different but she's not invincible. Ever since Alastair, I know that I can take her down. Ruby was helping me…"

"No she wasn't," rasped out Dean, the tension building on his back. "Cause guess what Sam," turning to face him, demonic eyes were back, locking themselves on Sam. It made the younger Winchester tremble in concern at how fast and easy the transition was. How far gone was Dean? "Ruby was working for Lilith."

Disbelief flashed on Sam's face. "You're lying."

Amusement trickled lightly out of Dean's mouth. "Oh, no, you see Ruby spilled her guts…literally…telling me how Lilith had plans for you to break the final seal."

"Ruby wouldn't do that, she hates Lilith!"

Dean launched himself at Sam, the rage shimmering once more off of him like a heat wave. "You'd believe a demon."

"Look whose talking!"

Boiling rage settled into icy detachment. "Got me there, Sammy. But at least I'm not addicted to demon blood. She was poison and one day you'll thank me for ripping her apart."

"No I won't because you're not my brother anymore. Dean…wouldn't become this." He didn't know where those words came from. They just spilled out of him without hesitation. Pain flared within him. It was as if he had taken a butter knife and carved out his heart.

"And Sammy wouldn't trust a demon over his own kin."

Sam wanted to retort when quiet coughing pierced the tense silence. Dean peered over his shoulder, snapping out his irritation at being interrupted. "What?"

Standing quietly, Alexei flashed a thin smile. "Rick wants to talk to you."

"It can wait."

"No it can't."

Sam watched as Dean's left hand inched its way to the belt where the knife was stored. "I'm still itchin here for some screams, Famine."

"Well, that little knife won't do you any justice." Alexei rolled her eyes. "Listen, War just wants to show you a new toy. Maybe then we can finally call it even."

Sam felt his throat dry up not liking this interaction between his brother and the Horsemen. Dean straightened up, his face lightening in interest. Sam had seen the look on more than one occasion whenever Dad showed Dean a new gun. It seemed being a demon only enhanced Dean's curiosity. Gazing down, the harsh light sent shards across the black surface. "Don't do anything stupid."

Walking in full stride, Dean knocked his shoulder with Alexei's before making his way to where War was leaning in the doorway. Shaking her head, Alexei walked up to Sam the smile plastered on her face. "Finally. I've been meaning to talk to you."

Huffing out his own frustration, Sam sniffed his nose smugness warming him further. "You and Rick have been possessed this whole time."

"Actually," Alexei shrugged her shoulders, "We don't technically possess anyone considering the souls original Alexei and Rick were obliterated during the whole process."

"You sick-"

"Na ah," crouching down, Famine eyed Sam with a hungry stare. "You listen while I talk. See, what Ruby didn't know was that you never needed to convince us with a speech."

"No?" Bracing himself, Sam could have sworn he smell the stench of decay around her.

"Nope, you were there with your brother to prevent Alastair from killing Death. Thus that makes me indebted to you as well. Sadly, your brother is being a pain and not telling us his one desire." Annoyance frowned down on Alexei's face as she peered over her shoulder quickly at the brisk walk of the other hunter.

Dean ran a hand through his cropped hair. Grimacing at the clumps, he couldn't but think about how refreshing a shower would be. Walking up to War, he let out a loud snap filled tone. In the Pit, he had grown a reputation of being not only very professional but if interrupted, he tended to be a bit pissed. "What the hell do you want?"

"Personally, I came to pick up a certain magically sword to see if I could drown some souls in the blood of their loved ones, but that's just me."

A joking voice jerked Dean's attention to the outside, his body freezing in mid-halt. The melted face of a demon pulsated beneath the façade of spiky blond hair and clear blue eyes. Lighting up a cigarette, Nicor stood in his old meat-suit hating the freezing night air. The deep gashes of where Lilith's hellhound had slashed into him still stung but he had not given in using every method to slay one of the blasted creatures. Realizing that upsetting Lilith might not have been a good thing, Nicor sought War out. To his somewhat surprise, the very Horseman had contacted him. He arrived mere seconds later.

And while he merely wanted the sword to defend himself, Nicor couldn't help but grin widely as Dean gazed upon him with familiar black eyes. To his surprise, the new Grand Inquisitor couldn't believe to see tiny hints of white. It seemed Alastair was right. Dean had potential and whatever was happening topside was fueling that wrath and self-loathing onto a whole new level.

Jealousy swelled in him. His old mentor had to put Dean on the fast tracked didn't he. Always the favorite getting everything, spoiled rotten everyday with Alastair asking Dean if he wanted to get off. Hell, when Nicor was on the rack, Alastair never once gave him the option. It wasn't until centuries later when the old man realized that Nicor's advice on making the torture on himself more painful while on the rack was he finally released.

"Nicor."

"Dean-o."

Back inside, realization dawned on Sam. "Dean's the left field Rick warned me about."

"Yep. We, well me, like your brother, especially with what he's doing ever since he was rejoined with his missing self. War's a bit partial to you, what with your blood addiction and all. Yet, we're growing a bit tired of waiting and now we're giving you a chance."

"Oh really. I feel so loved."

"I can give you anything you want Sam in order to fulfill this debt. I can give you a limitless supply of demon blood, cure Dean of his demonic nature…kill Lilith for you."

Suspicion flashed in Sam's eyes. "Why would you kill Lilith, ain't she your boss?"

"No, Lucifer is…was." Alexei's eyes twinkled with anticipation. "Think about it Sam, I know you want to kill Lilith but Dean's losing himself fast. Give or take a few days and I don't think even he could stop himself from torturing you."

Murderous black eyes on a familiar face stole Sam's breath away. Stuttering to regain his composure, he blinked slowly at Famine. "So you want me to wish to cure Dean?"

"No silly. I'm just laying out the situation to you."

And like that a plan unfolded in Sam's mind. He could focus on killing Lilith while Alexei cured Dean. She was Famine; technically she could make it so Dean would never 'starve' for another torture session. But the thing was Dean wasn't like other demons. If anything he was like Sam now. And curing him might lead to his death or insanity or some hollow mask of his former self. No. There were too many variables on what could go wrong. But there was one certain thing. If Lilith was out of the picture, then Sam would focus solely on Dean.

No more self-sacrificing themselves to become monsters.

But the ultimate question was if he should listen to Famine's proposition. The fact that Dean kept saying no meant there was a hidden agenda somewhere. It seemed despite this fall; Dean had kept his skill at reading people.

Now it was up to Sam to figure out the bigger picture. However, the edges of the picture were getting fuzzy as the high from Ruby's blood was slowly disappearing. A new image of Lilith's head raw and bloody on a plate flickered in the background, appearing all that appetizing.

In the background, a pair of voices, one clearly Dean, rose higher and higher in a heated argument.

Curling his hands into fists, Dean slid into a defensive stance. "You get the hell out of here."

Nicor flicked the dead bud onto Dean's chest, grinning wide as a small patch of ash blossomed onto the shirt. "What? You think just because you got to torture Alastair, you can give me orders?" The playful nature dissipated as he took solid step after step forward.

On instinct, Dean backed away slightly. Terror at seeing this taunting demon ran wildly within. Smelling the intoxicating fear, Nicor flashed his pearl white teeth. "You crying?" A chuckle flew by his lips, "Baby gonna cry?"

The old goad froze Dean in mid-step. Memories of what the first student did to him, all the taunts and experiments and the laughter bleed his vision red. Straightening his shoulders, Dean snapped back. "You're the whiny brat. Boohoo on not torturing Alastair. Grow a pair, Nicor."

It was a death wish, but Dean didn't care. He did what he always did when confronted by pure evil: smirked and wise-cracked his way home.

Nicor lunged forward, relishing the full blown contact as he body slammed into Dean sending them flying into the hanger. Gripping onto the shirt, his fists flew with accuracy onto Dean's smooth face. By the third impact, the flesh cracked slightly seeping blood down onto his knuckles. The sweet smell made him laugh. "I have missed this…" Leaning down, he hissed into Dean's straining head. "Little brother."

They might not be related by blood, but the pain and suffering and all those one-on-one interactions made up for it. Nicor never acknowledged it but watching Dean stand up, those eyes so close to his own made him see for the first time the true beauty of the darkness within the hunter.

Snarling, Dean raised his left hand onto Nicor's slim shoulder, eyes staring heatedly into Nicor's white ones. "Don't." Slam with a knee to the ribs. "Ever." Right hand twisted the body sideways. "Call." Head butt broke their close proximity. "Me." A powerful shove gave the two opponents a moment of air to breath. "That."

Each hunched and panting, Alastair's two pupils stared darkly at each other the blood lust to inflict pain on one another spilling out into the room.

"I'm gonna enjoy drowning you in liquid nitrogen."

"I'm gonna enjoy ripping your lungs out."

Nothing more to say, they flew at each other fists flying in a deadly all out wrestling match. War moved into the middle of the hanger doorframe, entranced at the fight. He couldn't help but applaud himself. He didn't have to anything except get the two in the same room before stepping back and watching it all unfold. He flashed a dark joyful gaze at Alexei who was watching the fight as well.

She in turn nodded, happiness shining off her eyes. Behind her, strapped to the chair, Sam watched with alarm at the brute hostility of the two men. "Dean!"

Alexei chuckled as she watched Sam struggle against his bindings. "Easy there, tiger. Alastair's students are only getting reacquainted."

Furious words exploded out of Sam's mouth. "Reacquainted? That demon is going to kill Dean!"

"Yes he will." Stepping backwards, Famine draped her arm around Sam's broad shoulders. Face flinching in mock sympathy, Alexei flashed another cold grin. "Just think about it Sam that could be you and Dean was fighting right at this moment."

Inhaling a sharp breath, Sam glanced up at the woman before eyes falling back onto the vicious fight. He had to do something.

Nicor twisted Dean to the side, but the light-brown haired hunter hung on and used the momentum to push Nicor towards the devil's trap. Skidding on his heels, Nicor halted himself mere inches away. Sparing a glance over his shoulder, he snarled relinquishing his right hand and drove the fist hard and fast into Dean's stomach. Dean doubled-over before flying backwards as an uppercut slammed under his chin.

Falling hard on his back, Dean fought to blink back stars. Yet as the bright flashes of light faded away Nicor was above him. Straddling his chest, Nicor bent down wrapping long fingers around Dean's neck.

Licking his lips, Nicor's white eyes blazed in rapture as he squeezed down onto Dean's throat. Beneath him, Dean's wide black eyes burned in retaliation as his hands scraped, clawed and tried to push Nicor off of him.

"Now, now, Dean-o, don't fret." Leaning down till, his breath ghosted over Dean's face, the stench of sulfur burning Dean's oxygen deprived lungs. The demon's face was bruised and battered, his once kept clothes ripped and stained with blood. Below, Dean growled past a busted pair of lips, his own clothing in the same condition.

"I'm not gonna put you back on the rack, no sir-ee." Pulling away, he tightened his grip, chuckling as a gasp fell out Dean. "Nope, I'm gonna tie you to a metal post and we're going to have so much fun together, just you and me. Cause trust me, you smart pain in the rear brat, I'm going to make you own up for taking away Alastair's pain from me."

As he tightened his hold for the final time, Nicor didn't see the flash of lights till it was too late. Only when he heard the loud screeching of tires did his head jerk upwards. Before him, the demon watched with surprise as a multi-rusted car drove through the hanger slamming hard into War. The Horseman's body flew over the hood, slamming hard on the windowshield before flying off to the side.

Bright lights blinded him as the stench of burnt rubber screeched loudly in the hanger. He found himself entranced as the lights came closer and closer, barely making out the face of an old man with a baseball cap in the driver's seat. Nicor didn't even realize it when Dean took advantage. Knocking away his hands, Dean took in a deep lungful of air before grabbing Nicor's shirt and tossed them both towards the wall just as the car's zoomed by him. The sound of metal crashing lightly into a pile of boxes signaled the death of an engine pushed past her prime. The final breath of the car huffing out in a final dark cloud of fumes swept over him and Nicor as the screams of Alexei and Sam rang in the air.

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A/N: Sorry for the late update. Every time I wrote Sam and Dean's conversation it never seemed right. Out of everything, this was hard to write and just my luck, it's just the beginning. So here's hoping that it worked and didn't seem forced. Sorry once again. Free candy to everyone :)


	26. Chapter 26

A/N: Whew, finally got around to typing this bad boy up. Let me tell ya, I so do not like being jumped by a plot bunny. Crazy 5.4 clips and promo giving me this huge bunny that wouldn't leave me alone till I wrote up a one shot on an episode that didn't even air till last Thursday. I swear those bunnies are the work of the devil.

**Play ball**

Bobby Singer was a practical hunter. He prided himself on always preparing ahead, knowing every weakness and incantation to bring down the next big baddie. So when the pair zoomed down towards the hanger and Castiel told him to plow straight into the hanger and his friend Rick, the ball cap wearing hunter was tempted to smack the angel so hard that his halo would be spinning.

"_Rick and Alexei, they are no longer your friends_."

And for some odd reason, Bobby's gut instinct agreed with the winged-freak as he took in Rick's still form watching over some fight inside. Rick wouldn't condone such action. He was an honorable hunter. Rick hated to see 'youngesters' waste their energy on something as idiotic as fighting. All human-on-human fights could be won over a game of chess as far as he was concerned. Heart aching in grief, Bobby floored it once more as Castiel disappeared from the seat.

"_Castiel. Right_." Brain trobbing from whiplash, the hunter grabbed his gun taking a deep breath before plunging into battle. Flinging the door open, Bobby staggered out into the hanger. Bracing himself as the world swayed before him, the hunter shook his head clear. A few feet away, Dean and some guy were sprawled on the ground. Further ahead, he saw Sam bound to a chair as Alexei was staring wide-eyed at War's broken prone form.

Grunting, he pushed himself forward ignoring the moans of the two men closest to him. Unsheathing his knife, Bobby walked up to the two massive traps, eyes falling immediately on the intersection. Bending down, he scraped the metal blade against concrete watching as the black paint flakes piled up. It was all anti-climatic really, breaking two massive traps and all that was the result was broken lines and flakes. No lightening or sonic booms. Kinda like those shirt's that said I did this and all I got was this lousy shirt.

The thudding of boots jerked Bobby's concentration upwards. Sprinting at him, Alexei's eyes blazed with black flames. Teeth grinding hard, a bony hand clawed into a fist as she pulled it back.

"You humans never know when to leave well enough alone," hissed a trembling voice cracking with power.

Bobby crouched, ready to slam the knife deep into Alexei's gut. Yet in a blink everything changed. A rush of wind, a faint hint of flapping wings and there was Castiel standing between Bobby and Famine. Grabbing her fist, the angel twisted, throwing the woman to the left sending her flying into the wall. Bobby bounced onto his feet, taking in the huge dent as Alexei rose from the small crater.

"Get Sam," ordered Castiel in his usual gruff voice.

"What about Dean?" snapped back Bobby.

Blue eyes squinted slightly, "He's my problem. Now go."

Huffing in irritation, Bobby lunged for Sam. Movement to his right and he spotted a blond hair man staggering onto his feet, white eyes glaring up at him. Automatically, the hunter reached behind his back as the demon took a step forward. With a twist of his thumb and forefinger, he unscrewed the silver flask. With a flick, holy water flew into the air, baptizing the demon full in the face. Nicor staggered backwards, howling in pain as he clenched his face, smoke steaming off of him. Bobby kept his face stoic, waiting for counterattack when Dean appeared, tackling the demon back onto the ground.

"Really, Dean!" snapped the white-eyed demon.

Dean's voice rang back with murderous intent despite the cocky comeback. "It ain't midnight yet, Cinderella."

A shiver ran down Bobby's spine. He never heard Dean talk like that before. Shaking his head, Bobby pushed onwards, skidding to a stop before Sam. "Better start explaining boy."

"Dean's a demon." The blunt tone radiating off of Sam halted Bobby in his slicing through the ropes.

"The tattoo…"

"He let it happen."

Bobby was about to shout back when the hanger rumbled sending dirt raining down on the pair. Dark eyes snapped upwards in time to watch Castiel skidding hard on the ground. Rolling to a stop, the angel gripped his right arm a flash of agony flooding his face. Peeking through the torn sleeve, the arm shone with a sick color, bony knuckles flexing underneath tight skin.

Alexei rolled her shoulders as she semi-skipped up to Castiel, almost vulture like in nature. Licking her lips, she hummed in pleasure. "I love tasting an angel's grace. And your's is so exquisite. So much doubting and longing, I'm amazed you haven't fallen yet."

Castiel pushed himself back onto his feet, locking dark blue eyes on the advancing woman. "Leave now."

Giggling, Famine paused amusement shining forth. "Hell no, not when the party is just getting started." Her cold gaze shifted over his shoulder. Castiel tilted his own head face tightening at the sight behind him.

Popping his shoulders into place, War rose off the ground. Bones cracking as they slid back into their proper places, red eyes peered out through the blood and scraps littering the face. With a quick snap of his neck, War grinned with a mouth full of red stained teeth. "It's been too long since I've fought an angel. I forgot how sneaky you little buggers can be."

His twisted left foot snapped into place as War lunged towards Castiel pulling out a long silver dagger from behind his back. Staring straight ahead of him, the angel watched as Famine sprinted towards him, flanking him from his back. Taking in a deep breath, the angel pivoted suddenly slamming a fist into War's temple, making the horseman stumble slightly. Not waiting, he shifted back just in time to knock away one of Famine's punches.

Her fingers skimmed over his own sending ice-cold electricity sizzling down his arms. Flinching away, he gasped trying to push away the pain aching in his very existence. Blindly, he kicked out making contact with Famine's backside. Quickly, he bended barely dodged the long thin knife slashing over his stomach. War chuckled and with a fast punch slammed the angel into the wall.

Struggling hard against his bindings, Sam glared down at Bobby continued to cut endlessly at the rope. "Hurry up!"

"I'm going as fast as I can boy," muttered back the older hunter. "You're damn brother used knots I've never seen before and laced it in water so it would tighten up as it dried."

The loud crashing yanked Sam's attention back to the fight before him. Castiel dodged another skull crushing fist. But as he staggered away from War, his hand cupped his left arm. The tan sleeve was blossoming red, the thick liquid dripping between his fingers. Castiel barely had time to raise his arms as War kicked him squarely into the chest. Flying into another cluster of crates, the angel crouched on the ground.

Coughing out a mouthful of blood, cracked ribs straining with each breath, Castiel fought to keep his vision focused. The sulfur tinted wound from the blade seared with agony each time he moved as poison trickled through him. Holding the bleeding arm closer to his chest, Castiel remained hunched but poised as War and Famine made their way to him.

Sparing a quick glance to his left, he quickly assessed the situation. Bobby was continuing to free Sam, whose face shone with urgency. Swallowing, blue eyes traveled downwards where the scuffling between Dean and Nicor continued onwards. Both were oblivious to the outside, intent to destroy one another fueling their punches and kicks.

Nicor slammed Dean's bruised face into a wall, staggering backwards. His breaths were haggard as he spat out a tooth. Dean fell onto his butt, eyes staring blankly forward, left arm pinned behind him. "You were always a pain in the butt," rasped out the white-eyed demon.

Coughing racked his body as his broken rib tickled across his lung. Shakily, he raised a stained hand outwards to Dean. "It's been fun, Dean-o."

Blinking slowly, life returned to Dean's eyes. A guttered laugh passing before him, the hunter smiled painfully. "Right back at cha." Without warning, Dean sprung forward, his left hand flying outwards driving home the rusting plant spike.

Nicor's mouth filled with blood, white eyes widening as they fell downwards. The spike ran clean and true through his lower right chest. A tiny shift and he could feel the rod peeking out behind his back. A gurgle conveyed his shock as Nicor watched Dean's face fall impassive once more. Sliding back, the hunter drew up his right hand and with a powerful strike, drove the fist into his face.

Castiel's lips thinned as he watched Nicor fall onto his back, Dean pouncing on the demon a second later. Without relieve, Dean rained punches down left and right with no regard or restraint.

"Dean! Stop! You're killing him!" Sam's voice echoed loudly yet it fell on deaf ears.

All Dean could hear was the thundering of his heart against his chest. His lungs burned, arm shaking as his body ached from wounds. Somewhere outside of this world, he smelled ozone. Now that he thought about it, Dean thought he heard the gruff voice of a certain angel, could have sworn he felt a searing white flash of light blaze before him so peaceful and wrathful at the same time. It was like before...

Then Nicor gurgled with what might have been a chuckle. Dean's face hardened as his lips twitched with the urge to grin as his fist made impatct once again. He didn't care anymore that this demon was Nicor or that Bobby was out there somewhere. That the world was on the verge of implosion. That Sam was drinking blood. That Sam didn't believe him...his own brother...about Ruby. That the brother he raised from a baby to a grown man...didn't pick a demon...That... Hands slid down, fingers interlocking behind the bloody sweaty neck. He began to press down.

Taking in a deep breath, Castiel rolled onto his feet fixing a stern gaze on the Horsemen. It was time to end this. War flipped his dagger in his hand, eagerness radiating off of him. Famine stood slightly off to the side, a vulture in waiting. Black eyes simmered in glee as she took in the battered form of the angel. To see him crouched there, trying to be all defianent. The smug expression faded away as Alexei narrowed her eyes taking in a red design on the floor peeking underneath the trenchcoat.

Sensing Dean's bloodlust, the clever, insightful angel knew what the Horsemen truly wanted from the boys. And to his suprise, it sickened him. Castiel locked eyes with Famine, certainty hardening his low voice. "You cannot have him."

Realization blew open her eyes. Sprinting forward, Alexei stretched out her arm, screaming. "No!"

It was too late; Castiel's hand slammed on the sigil a blast of pure white light cracking the very foundations of the hanger. Powerful gusts of wind ripped through the farthest side of the hanger barreling into the Horsemen. War roared. Famine screeched. Their bodies twisted and flung towards the ceiling where they disappeared in a crackle of lightening.

Heaving in a deep breath, Castiel staggered onto his feet. He barely won one battle but there were two others to win. Drawing upon his remaining strength, he flashed behind Dean. The hunter was bowed over Nicor, ancient words falling from his lips as he chocked the demon. "Nivo cal leti fra ko si…"

Nicor's white-eyes bulged open, his borrowed body seizing underneath the onslaught of the exorcism. However, this was no ordinary exorcism to send the demon back to the Pit. No, it was a rare ritual that would send the demon into the darkest, pitch black level where no one ever returned from.

"Gro nomi hu…" The heat rose higher and higher within Dean, searing red pain burning him alive. The tortured screams replaced the thundering of his heart as a loud crack vibrated deep within. Something was happening to him, more than when he had killed Ruby. A part of him was singing in joy, knowing that at the death of Nicor he would become Grand Inquistor. Then finally, he could rip apart every demon and creature that ever hurt him or his family. Yet, a small part screamed in fear. Dean didn't want Hell to rise in him. He hadn't agreed for things to go this far. This was wrong.

A small hand rested itself on his shoudler, pefectly on the brand. The white light from earlier sparked over the inflamed skin, the smell of ozone filling the air. Tilting his head upwards, Dean stared into the saddest pair of blue eyes he had ever seen. "Let go," hissed the demon.

"No." replied the angel. With a speed not present before, Dean launched onto the one creature he hated more than Nicor or Alastair. Hated the creature because he ripped his soul apart, even if by accident. Hated because the angel was proof that there was another side out there. Hated because Castiel forgave him.

A fist slamming onto his face, Castiel took a step backwards not letting go of his charge. Before him, Dean curled slightly cradling his broken hand to his chest. Graying eyes glared hotly up at him. "You winged-"

Dean yanked himself free, raising his other hand to punch the angel. But the angel was ready this time. Raising his left hand to block, Castiel raised two fingers and touched Dean's forehead gently. Whiteness flooded Dean's very existence, roaring like a tidal wave over the smoldering smoke. The black faded away revealing wide green eyes. Déjà vu swept over the pair as they stared deeply at each other.

History repeated once more. An angel sent and retrieved the chosen one from darkness. Only there was no fire and brimstone. And this time, salvation had not yet occurred. Time moved forward, Dean's eyes rolling in the back of his head as he slumped forward. Castiel reached out, his arm searing once more as his wound made contact with his charge. Slowly, he bent down lying Dean gently on the ground. The young man's face was smooth and seemed to radiate innocence. It was a stark contrast to the monster a few seconds ago.

The sound of shuffling pulled Castiel's attention back to the present. Eyes shifted as something stirred inside, bubbling and boiling as he took in each cut, scrape and bruise. Flickering upwards, he gazed up on Nicor's standing gloating form. In two seconds, he slammed the white-eyed demon into the wall hand tight around the bruised neck.

Nicor gasped, the toes of his shoes scrapping at the floor. "Dean won't be happy."

Straightening his shoulders, Castiel stared with blue flamed eyes. "I won't let Dean kill you."

A laugh fell from the busted lips. A wet snort from the broken nose carried on the dark mocking. "Cause we both know he'd fall completely and there would be no saving him this time around…right."

"Enough," growled out Castiel. Taking in a deep breath, he slammed his palm onto the forehead. Foreign wrath and his remaining vestiges of strength rained pure light onto the demon. Nicor's mouth fell open in a silent scream the orange and black flashing out of existence.

Panting, Castiel stepped back as the corpse fell in a boneless heap. Swaying slightly, the angel felt totally drained from the battle. But he couldn't rest, not now.

A yelp sounded off to his right and soon two thunderous pairs of footsteps bolted towards him. Turning, he watched as Sam flew to Dean's side, eyes only for his brother. He didn't notice Bobby reaching him, till a hand touched his arm gently. Flinching, he stared at the older hunter.

"Your arm," whispered Bobby, hidden concern flashing on his face.

"I'm fine." Fixating back on Sam and Dean, he urged his vessel to remain standing. He couldn't let Sam see him weak. "The Impala is parked outside, go now."

Sam stared incredulously at Castiel as maneuvered Dean into his arms. "What about you?"

"Don't worry about me." Taking in a deep breath, he slid his eyes downwards onto Dean's prone form. Concern for Dean's state and its importance on the angel was not lost onto the two humans.

Staggering up onto his feet, Sam shuffled Dean's body into a better position. Bobby took a step back, his disagreement shining on his face despite what he said. "Alright then."

Sam shot Castiel one more look, eyes full of gratitude and worry. "Take care of yourself."

Then they were gone. Castiel waited till the rumbling of the Impala disappeared over the horizon. With one glance around at the utter destruction of the hanger, he collapsed onto his knees. Head bowed, wings stretched out to their fullest span, Castiel closed his vessel's eyes as he leaned downwards. Body spent beyond repair and his grace tainted, Castiel drew upon his faith as he began concentrating on healing himself.

He could only hope that he would be gone before Zacheriah showed up.

-----------------------

Sam sat quietly in the passenger seat as Bobby drove the Impala down the lonely stretch of highway. The moment he settled Dean's unconscious form in the backseat, handcuffing his brother's hands behind him, the will to do anything much less drive drained out of him. Collapsing in the familiar seat, he stared blankly into the dark fields.

In the peaceful drive, his mind strained to make sense of the past few hours. Everything was a blur, missing pieces and wide gaps. But there was one constant. Turning, his eyes fall on Dean. Amongst Rick and Alexei being the Horsemen, Ruby dying and then Castiel and Bobby's appearance, Dean's cold black eyes remain fixated in his mind. Out of everything, Sam always believed that he would be the one to go demonic. Not once did he think that it would be his older brother. Dean was too good a hunter, too street-smart…too good-natured. Hell, Dean had angels watching over him.

"Sam." Bobby's warm voice pulled his stricken face upwards. The man who was an uncle to him looked aged beyond his years. "Keep an eye out for an abandoned house."

"Bobby?"

"I've been driving all day long, boy. I'm tired and like hell am I drivin' back to my house."

Sam nodded in numb understanding. Gratitude made itself known in the small smile. Bobby always knew what was best for him and his brother. Rolling over, he rested his head lightly against the window focusing on finding a house. Confidence slowly filled him, knowing he could fullfill this simple request. And if he could succeed in something like this then maybe he could succeed in fixing his brother.

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A.N. This time it's chocolate time. And just in time cause Halloween is coming up :)


	27. Chapter 27

A/N: Looking back now, with all the tweaking I did to this chapter, I can't help but think of this one as a filler chapter. It's just one I had not fun writing but it needed to be done. Either way, here is it is long overdue.

**The 5 Step Program**

The small hunting cabin was far enough along the dirt beaten path, providing much needed seclusion. All three passengers were not ready for the world or its complications. Even with the Seals breaking one by one, family always came first in the Winchester rule book. By the time Bobby parked the Impala, the sky was turning an ash-color hue, stars dimming out of existence. With Sam hauling his unconscious brother onto his back, Bobby kicked open the dirt filled door. The one-story, two room cabin was nothing like the Hilton, but the small luxuries of a small fire place, a tiny sink and stove as the kitchen was enough.

In the main room, Bobby collapsed on a stump he rolled in to serve as a chair. In the other room, barely big enough to fit the rickety, metal cot was Dean. Still out despite being practically thrown on the ground, he was handcuffed by his left hand to the railing. Between him and the lost hunter was Sam. The youngest Winchester fidgeted restlessly against the doorframe, sweat dotting his forehead.

"You ok, Sam?" Worry seeped into Bobby's voice. "You're not looking well."

Sending a shivering smiling, Sam wiped his hands against his pants. "Well, considering I was almost tortured by my own brother-"

"Now listen here, Sam. You don't know that Dean would have torture you."

"Fam-Alexei said…"

"Well she's a demon and demons lie, boy." Bobby narrowed his stern eyes. "I know your brother and he'd rather kill himself than hurt you."

"Well apparently, you don't know him!" snapped Sam. Despair blazed in his eyes. "And I guess I didn't know him either." Stalking up to him, Bobby took in the shaking frame and the thin veins that rose from the pale skin. There was something else going. Sam could be snappy, but this was a bit extreme for the boy. "You should have seen what he did to Ruby, Bobby! He freakin-"

"Not so loud," groaned out a voice.

Turning their heads, Sam and Bobby watched as Dean blinked blurry at them. "Oh look if it ain't the Old Couple."

Lips thinning, Bobby rose off the stump, ignoring his aching joints. Now was not the time to feel his old age kicking in. Taking a step forward, he noted Sam shift behind him. The hurt was clear across the young man's face. "Why don't you keep your trap shut for now, ya idjit?"

Dean chuckled quietly, tilting his head outwards as if trying to peer outside his room. "Do you really think I'm gonna listen to you now, Bobby?" In one blink, the demonic eyes were back in full force locking their penetrating gaze onto them. "I just want to know where Cas is? Usually his bouncy, hyper self is here making some gruff comment about saving the world."

A scowl graced Bobby's bearded face. "I don't need to take this crap." With two steps forward, he reached out to slam the door closed when Dean's voice yelled out.

"How you feelin Sammy? Dying for another hit of demon blood?"

The whiplash from jerking his head sent a tidal wave throughout his head, yet Bobby didn't even feel it. All he could watch was Sam's already pale face slip into a shade of alabaster. Hazel eyes blown wide open, he darted his gaze everywhere else but on the older man. Shifting his feet, fingers drumming on his legs Bobby could read the signs easy.

Swallowing, he took in a deep breath. "He tellin' the truth?"

Eyes dropping, watering up with unimaginable guilt, Sam gave a tiny nod. Reaching up, Bobby pinched the bridge of his nose. It seemed this day was getting worse by the second. First an angel pops out of nowhere, then Dean goes all Torturer and now Sam was a blood druggie. He needed a drink.

Shutting the door, he ignored away the yelps of surprise from the chained Winchester. Inching towards the main door, Bobby grabbed his coat and the keys to the Impala. "Stay here and whatever you do, don't open that door. You're brother…well you don't need me tellin ya how much he has a big mouth on him."

Sam's head was bowed down; chin almost resting against his chest. A child-like voice stabbing at his heart asked, "Where are you going?"

The shaking broken tone vibrated through the bearded hunter's bones. He yearned to walk over there and hold Sam, comfort him from what his brother was putting him through. He wanted to smack him for doing the unthinkable. For what made a hunter...a human think that drinking demon blood was ok? Not only that, but Bobby remembered those late night calls when a terrified, drunk Dean called, needing to hear someone's voice because Sam had disappeared once again into the night. Oh, Bobby understood why Dean ran head long back into Hell. Post-traumatic stress coupled with being constantly left in the dark would be more than enough for him to snap.

It was a vicious cycle the two remaining Winchesters had locked themselves in. Sighing loudly, he opened the door with a loud creak. "I need some air." And with that, he stepped out into the night, shutting the door with a resolute slam.

Long after the Impala roared away, minutes passed, turning into a half hour when Sam slid against the door that separated him from Dean. Collapsing in a heap, he hugged himself tightly as shivers ran through him.

"Sam." Dean's concerned voice pierced through the thin barrier with the ease of an older brother. "Come on, Sam. Look, I…I'm really worried about you." The scrapping of boots on the worn out floor fills the pause. "I'm not lying here Sam."

Pulling his knees to his chest, Sam titled his head upwards trying to fight the pain of the situation. Letting out a small laugh, he couldn't hold back the sarcasm. "Oh cause you care so much about me."

A loud clang burst in the air. Behind the door, Dean twisted forward once more, anger fueling his actions. Yanking at the handcuff, he snarled at the one tiny object that chained him to the bed. This was ridiculous. Turning to face the door once more, he snapped back. "What kind of stupid statement is that? You know I'd do anything for you!"

"Oh really?" Laughing even more, Sam couldn't hold back the tears as he watched Dean slaughter Ruby in the shadows dancing across the ceiling. "You think I wanted my brother to become all Master Torturer?"

"And you think I wanted my little brother turning into some monster."

The cold statement froze the air leaving Sam's lungs. 'Monster' echoed in the room, the floor dropping away. For a split second, Sam thought he was dead. The world stopped moving, his heart seemed to skip a beat before pumping louder and louder. Gut-wrenching betrayal morphed into twisted reality as his worst nightmare cracked to life. Gasping for air, the demon blood bubbled underneath a racked body.

Launching to his feet, Sam didn't remember flinging open the door before bursting into the room. Dean was on his knees next to the bed, the poster boy of confidence and stubbornness despite the posture. In two steps, he slammed that broad-shouldered body into the bottom portion of the wall, rattling the windows. Fingers inched upwards circling over the warm flesh. With one hand he squeezed down, his thumb feeling the vein pumping. Its' brother slammed hard into the face of Dean.

"Don't you say that!" screamed Sam's shattered soul. "Don't you dare say that after what I've done!" His hand slid down and interlocked with its' partner. "Don't! Because you're a monster as well, Dean! You torture people for fun! At least I did it to stop the Apocalypse!"

Dean gasped, his free hand grabbing hard onto Sam's wrists while his chained one tugged at a dark blue clad leg. Green eyes tried to lock onto the large furious face before him but black dots danced in and out. Hacking out a gurgled cough, he felt something warm begin to run down his chin. Hazel eyes fell from his face, watching the thin trail of blood make a dash to the ground.

The darkness of it sang out to Sam, his mouth beginning to parch as the power of a demon thrummed quietly before him. "_Right_…" mumbled his addicted mind, "_Demon blood…Dean's a demon_…"

A thumb traces slowly up, reaching out as the thin blood line becomes his one solace promising a relief from the pain burning in him. The tiny movement is all Dean needs. Feeling his brother's attention on his blood, his own eyes snap into their light gray color. Sneaking his arm underneath the other, Dean turns to slam his knee into Sam's side using the right side of his body as leverage sending Sam tumbling across the room.

Heaving in precious air, Dean rubs at his sore throat. "You better not have been thinking about what I thought you were."

Sam's wide-blown eyes are enough of an answer for Dean. Curling in on himself, Dean can't fight back the helpless rage at how far his little brother has fallen. "You really that far gone, Sam! That desperate enough of feed on your own brother?"

"I-I," stuttered Sam.

"Just leave," snarled Dean, those demonic eyes not once wavering from his face.

Yet as Sam stares into them, shock trembling from his face, he sees his brother's hurt pouring out of them. Pushing himself off the floor, the youngest Winchester staggered out of the room, leaning on the small wall where the fireplace offers a steady support for his racking body. Dean was right. He was losing it, for what type of man would even think of feeding off his own _brother_.

In the background, he heard Dean shuffle, the squeaking of the bed hinting at the change in position. The tension between them chill the cabin. Shaking his head, Sam quietly left the cabin, his tired numb mind recollecting there was some old firewood on the side somewhere. Deep down though, he secretly hoped the cold air would shock some sense in him. Daring a glance down the road, he found himself praying Bobby would be back soon.

Yet one hour turned into three and dawn was peeking out over the dense winter woods. Shuffling, he peered into the small room where Dean was sprawled out on the mattress snoring away. The two hadn't spoken or even dared to look at each other since the incident. The wide canyon between them sent artic air spinning around the cabin despite the friendly fire.

Hunching down, Sam poked idly at the fire. He would need to make another run outside. Rising, his joints cracked and groaned as if he had aged fifty years. The massive black hole in his stomach continued to grow screaming for the rich blood in the next room. It seemed to sense how powerful Dean had become and that was another notch in the blackboard of how Dean terrified Sam. The metal prod dropped with a loud thud from shaking fingers. A low grumble froze Sam's body, his breath halting as if waiting for an attack. The fire crackled. Nothing.

Sighing out his tension, Sam cautiously walked out of the door. Walking around for fifteen minutes, he gathered an arrangement of firewood. Satifisfied, he passed by the small window in Dean's room where to his surprise, he heard two gruff voices talking. Ducking down, Sam cautiously glanced up to peek in inside where his eyes were greeted by a familiar blond head sitting next to a raven-haired man.

Dean pushed himself closer to the head of the bed, easing the pin and needles in his handcuffed hand. Cold eyes flashed over to his unwelcome visitor. He had been having a nice dream somewhere along the lines of having both Alastair and Nicor chained in front of him when the next thing he knows it's too bright and hot. Having only a moment to pull away, Dean immediately slid into a defensive seating position while his visitor sat politely on the end of his bed.

"What took you so long?" snarled out Dean's welcome.

Castiel fixed his eyes on a distant point across the room. "I am sorry, Dean, truly I am."

"Oh now, you're sorry." Hatred is dripping off of his words.

Closing his eyes, Castiel tilts his head so when he opens pained blue he's staring straight into the morphed blacken soul. "I meant to grab you wholly, but during the struggle time was of the essence. I had no choice and if I knew this would be the result…"

Hunching over, Dean fights back the agonizing pain his soul remembers from the struggle of being the desired object of two of the most powerful supernatural creatures. A tired growl rasps, "You can take your apology and shove it up your ass."

An equal tired look passed over the angel's face as his shoulders sag. It is then that Dean spots something different about the angel that had been both his salvation and damnation. Cas is paler, his lips tinged slightly blue. Breaths are a bit more wheezing and the wound on his arm continues to drip blood onto the dusty floor boards. Yet there is something else in the slumped form. Gazing through demonic lenses, Dean spots the sort of ethereal glow pass through the vessel like fog, dense and slow but disappearing at an excruciating rate.

Eyes older than time itself blink in an unsaid confirmation. "I am dying Dean. War and Famine did more damage than I could heal."

Dean felt something in him shift at the confession, the grayness leaking out of his worried filled face. Despite everything, he remembered the time he and angel spent together. The secrets, small words and actions of reassurances becoming a thing Dean clutched to before embracing this path. How Castiel stood by his side and said that he had faith in him despite knowing the demon in him. How he gave the angel his forgiveness and how it made him feel worthy for once in his life.

How when the angel literally had to drag him from the torture chamber, struggling at his soul screamed and clawed its way out of the burning light, the angel fought back with the same intensity despite the wounds he had received from other demons. That as Dean pulled and pulled, wanting to free-fall back to where his ripped half lay cradled in the arms of his teacher, Castiel pushed Dean farther back into the burning bushes of tinged wings. And as they flew upwards and upwards, the agonies of the damned fading away with his remaining brothers and sisters by his side, Cas nursed Dean's damaged soul. Whispered sweet nothings as the angel poured his grace into the aching gap of a missing piece sealing the bleeding wound with a hand print for all to see.

The hunter couldn't fight back the single tear running down his cheek as the memories of his rising assaulted him. "You shouldn't have," chocked Dean. "You should have left me down there. It's home for the likes of me."

Cas bowed his head as Dean continued his rant. "And look at you now, angel, dying over a demon. Are you truly that lost? That fallen?"

"I forgave you Dean Winchester the moment you screamed at me to let you go, for you feared that the reason you were down in the Pit would become broken. You were determined to fall back into Hell because you feared for Sam." Reaching out, he laid a sickening white hand on Dean's leg. "And I know that you walk this path once more to protect him. To become a monster yourself if it means that Sam doesn't." Tilting his head once more, Cas hinted at a smile. "Am I wrong?"

Sniffing, Dean pulled his leg out from underneath the angel's touch as if it burned him. "I hate you."

"I know but I will not leave you." Pushing himself off the cot, Cas stepped till he next to Dean's face. "I will raise you again from Perdition, Dean even if it kills me this time." Then without a word, he pursed two fingers on the elder Winchester's forehead knocking him out once more.

Weaving, the angel reached out for the wall, steadily balancing himself. Then he raised his head and locked his gaze on Sam's suprised face. Eyes hard, voice not betraying his weakening state, the angel spoke, "I have work for you Sam and time is of the essence."

------------------------------------------

A.N: Whew, hope that works. And *cries* I can't believe I'm killing Cas here. Poor guy, but someone's gotta go.


	28. Chapter 28

A/N: Go away plot bunnies *tries to shut her closet* I must finish this chapter before I get to you! Sheesh. Well, I hope you all had an awesome Halloween. I celebrated by having a little Season 1 marathon and man, did Shapeshifter!Dean put me back in the mood for Torture!Demon!Dean. So thanks, episode Skin :)

**No Bounds**

Castiel waited patiently as Sam staggered into the cabin, his eyes never leaving Dean. He had failed on so many levels that even now he felt his heart clench as his stomach tightened. It was no longer about stopping Apocalypse, even if that might be a major issue; it was all about Dean Winchester. Dean who had forgiven him in the motel room when he was in a dark place. Now it was time to repay that debt…to save someone he dared to consider a friend.

The loud slam of a door and the thumping of footsteps told the angel many things before Sam even entered the room. He knew Sam was ill, but from what he did not know. Yet, he also knew that Sam was a Winchester and if there was one thing about Winchesters he learned was that they were willing to do insane things even if they were on the verge of death. Stubborn to the end when it came to one another.

Bracing his shoulders, the angel kept his tired gaze on Dean's prone form, feeling Sam's wild scared eyes locking onto him from the doorway. With every breath War's wound seared with the Pit's fire, blazing his grace out of him. It was worse than the Siege for this time he was utterly alone.

"Cas…" Sam's voice was low and shaky in torment. It seemed Sam inherited Dean's guilt characteristic.

Reaching over, Castiel gripped his bleed arm as he stared over to Sam. Taking in a deep shuddering breath, the angel forced himself to remain stoic. "There is still good in Dean…it's only a matter of reaching it."

Sam's eyes dropped, the haggard look enhancing in the dim light. "But he…"

"Dean doesn't want to hurt you…he never did." Castiel bowed his head, remembering the times the elder Winchester stood up for his little brother, throwing himself in front of Sam all the while hiding his own torment as not to worry the younger brother.

Stepping quietly into the room, Sam wanted to believe the words the angel spoke. But each time, all he could remember was that detached fury locked on him. Slight squeaking pulled his attention to Castiel, who resumed sitting quietly on the foot of the bed his fingers laced together, head bowed. It was if he was praying.

Sam shook his head, no longer hiding his desperate tone. "Then what am I suppose to do? He won't talk."

Castiel steadily returned his gaze back to Dean, blue eyes peering straight into him. "I cannot exorcise the demon from him, not anymore. You know of this."

Sam felt his cheeks reddened at the implication. "Yes."

"It would kill him. And if anything, your brother's soul must remain intact otherwise it will be merely a repeat of before."

The flat voice strained slightly at the end, furrowing Sam's brow with concern. "Then what do we do?"

Waving his hand, Cas waited as Sam inched towards him. "You have heard of dream walking."

Sam felt his chest constraint. "No way."

Blue eyes snapped up to him. "It's the only-"

"No. I was in there once, took a dream root and the-" A shiver ran down his spine remembering all too well how drastic Dean had changed after the trip. Something happened when they were split up, something so shocking as to shake Dean's opinion about going to Hell.

"You must Sam."

"I can't." Despair raked the young man's body. Throwing his arms open, Sam's face fell. "You don't get, Cas. I'm tainted."

Castiel's lips thinned, eyes blinking slowly in understanding. "The demon blood-"

"It's not just that!" No longer holding back the pain anymore, Sam threw his arms into the air as his feet moved his body into motion. "I drink it Cas, I'm freaking addicted to it. And Dean caught me with Ruby back at the hanger. He hates me." Halting, his arms dropped by his side, brown eyes swam with anguish. "He sees me as a monster now."

If the information was a bombshell to the angel, Sam couldn't tell. The blank face remained however for a brief second he swore he saw disappointment in them. "And how do you believe Dean sees himself?"

The soft spoken statement was a punch in the gut. Sam felt himself stagger to the wall, sliding downwards as the angel rose carefully. He couldn't help but think that this was why Dean must have been scared of Cas when they first met. For someone besides Sam to know his brother so well, to speak so brutally honest…

Castiel did not pause, pushing forward with each step. "You keep saying how you use your powers for good, Sam. Well this is it then; prove to your brother and me that this dark path you are walking down willing is not a lost cause."

Sam stared sadly up as the angel towered over him. Despite his pale complexion, the angel still appeared to be all powerful. Sniffing, Sam felt his head nod. He barely had time to ask how before he felt cold fingers brush against his temple.

In a blink, Sam found himself standing in a ravaged wasteland, sulfur infecting the air. It was not at all like the woods from before where all was crisp and warm sunlight flooded the dream of Lisa and Ben. No, this was like a remake from the Terminator movies.

Off in the distant, a familiar white house calls to him. Running a hand through his hair, Sam began his trek across the ragged volcanic rocks. The crunching of dirt and what sounds oddly like bones is his constant companion. While the sky darkened and cracked with soundless lightening, a wind howled around him mixing intense heat and cold.

Sometimes, Sam swore he heard the screams of other people, but mostly its one bloodcurdling scream that hastened his steps. It's the screams of Dean that drive him up the stairs, kicking the door open without pause.

Heaving in a deep breath, Sam swallowed as he called out softly. "Dean?"

Behind the house, sitting on an old tire swing from a dead oak tree, a tall man stared deeply into a crevice soaking in the heat and screams. His bare, ash covered cut up feet kicked a small rock down into the Pit. Growling rumbles back, whispering to him of Nicor's death by the angel who rescued him once more. That he is the one who has a rightful claim to being the Pit's new Inquisitor.

Pushing himself forward, Dean contemplated his new choice. Maybe then, he could finally be rid of Castiel. A ghost of his name being called causes his feet to scrap against the ground halting his swing, leaving trails of red behind. Turning, he stared over his shoulder, dead eyes catching the glow of hellish flames.

He wasn't alone.

"Dean?" Stepping into the main room, Sam's eyes flew over the burnt remains of a couch surrounded by smashed and cindered picture frames. Everything that had graced a room full of family memories was trashed, leaving the precious relics to the elements. Even the wooden wallpaper peeled off of the blacken walls. Shaking his head, Sam bit back a wave of nausea at the manifestation of how far and hard Dean's torment ran.

"How the hell did you get here?" Dean's voice sneered behind him, his feet crunching on broken glass, the stabbing needles filling him with masochist glee.

Spinning around, Sam found his mouth agape as he took in his brother's image. Dressed in a simple white tee and blue scrubs, the thin figure scratched idly at what could be blond hair if it wasn't cake in blood. Despite the gray demonic eyes glowering at him, black bags framed the smeared cheeks hinting at the lack of sleep. Scars both pale and dominate danced all across each revealed piece of skin. Self-hatred was ever clearer in the busted nails stained permanently in red.

"It doesn't matter, but this has got to end now." Sam's voice stammered as light cracked outside as he tried to push away the new appearance. How the hell did Cas think this was the best way to talk to his brother? This was Dean's world…this destroyed, lifeless Hell.

"Yeah it does," raising his scarred hand Dean looked ready to squeeze the life out of him. "Oh I'm not going to kill you, Sam."

Sam drew upon his shacking strength. "You gonna torture me?"

Dean's image flashed with the light. For split second, he saw a little 8 year old boy wearing a large leather jacket far too big for him. His blond hair hung limply across his stressed features as green eyes that had seen too much furrowed in concentration. Then it was gone as darkness enveloped the two with Dean's next words. "You ain't my brother."

Sam tensed as the murderous rage rumbled through the house, with Dean at the center. "Yes I am. I'm still Sammy underneath it all!"

Throwing his raised arm to the side, the fist smashed into a picture of John, Dean and Sam. Dean snarled back as his body curled in on itself. "Your eyes went black!"

The air froze, stillness settling over the house like a graveyard. Sam's eyes widened as he remembered lashing out with his power to save Ruby one more time. "I…I didn't know."

"You were ready to kill me, send me right back into the Pit all for a demon witch." Without pause, Dean flung forward. Despite the weak image, the older brother slammed Sam hard into a wall, fingers digging into his flesh. "You trusted her, after everything I've done for you." Insane misery pushed Sam harder into the wall, the eyes seeping more into a blinding white. "You threw my dying words right alongside me into my grave without a single shred of respect."

Sulfur filled the air, reaching out with invisible hands. Circling over Sam's neck, the searing smoke squeezed. Coughing, Sam pushed at Dean's chest. "D-Dean."

Lightening flashed revealing the child Dean's face alit with shock. The crash of something in a distant room knocked Dean back into his former frame. Anger deflated as the elder Winchester staggered towards the empty fireplace, eyes losing themselves to the memories. The memories of dying, of being confided to a cedar box…of Alastair making him watch Sam getting tortured over and over again ran rampant before him. "No…"

Inhaling a ragged breath, Sam felt sick. Bile burned his throat like the alcohol he drank day in and day out during that first month of grieving. Dean was right. He had thrown everything Dean and his father taught him into the gutter. He had tainted the Winchester name, their legacy. And all for what, because Ruby said giving into his powers was going to help him with his revenge? Was going to make him a better hunter?

Chest heaving, Sam hugged himself as he turned and vomited next to the remains of a desk. Their father and his revenge-driven quest blared loudly in his ears as the story was revealed. A story about how Dean was there the whole crazy time, supporting his grieving father and baby brother, while John drove them headlong into this cursed life.

Sam remembered protesting and screaming at his father, at Dean for this existence. It had gotten to the point where when he saw an opening, he leapt out of the sinking boat into the uncharted territories of a normal life. He left Dean alone to bear his father's wrath. Too soon their dad jumped the ship and all that was left was Dean on the sinking boat that was their family.

Fast forward three years later and Sam was doing it all again. Despite rejoicing in the fact that Dean was alive…_alive_…and helping each other with their wounds, he dragged Dean unknowingly onto this train wreck. He kept rushing head first towards killing Lilith and becoming this thing. All the while Dean trailed after him like an abandoned puppy that clung to the only home he had left. He stood by and supported Sam like he had Dad. Yet this time, the older brother knew what lay at the end of the road, reasoning to deaf ears over and over again. And when Dean knew he wasn't being heard, he did what he did best: took action.

As if hearing his name, the lost brother gazed upwards at Sam's heaving form. Blinking, Dean cocked his head, flinging Sam's body onto curtain rod, tying his arms with rope. Lost in the oozing black quick sand, he was doing what he did best all his life, whether it is hidden by saving a person's life as hunter, revenging Mom, saving Sam or torturing nameless soul number 2,987, Dean dished out his own hurt onto others.

Made his victims feel his pain and suffering he withheld the moment his father placed Sam into his arms while their Mom burned to death. Dean became the thing they hunted, became not a legacy to John but Alastair's prime heir, because he was wanted to release himself in a manner that no words could describe.

"Dean, I had too," gasped Sam as he struggled against the bonds. "There was nothing else and I suffered four long months and unlike you, I couldn't bring you back to life. So I mourned the best way I knew how and that was revenge. Cause trust me, I knew that I wasn't going to make it in the end, but I didn't care. I just wanted it all to end."

A scowl marred Dean's features. Sam was always the one for whining, trying to find excuses to words that he meant. "But I came back…"

"I know and I'm sorry but when you were…"

"Weak?" snarled Dean, stepping forward, fingers stabbing deep into his palms that blood dripped between the digits.

"Broken," huffed Sam. "I knew I had to protect you Dean. You did so much for me and I tried to pay it back by becoming stronger. I sold my humanity for you Dean."

Alastair's pupil turned to face away from the revelation, not wanting to hear those confessions. Light splashed into the room, silhouetting Sam's stretched form onto the ground before a pair of small feet. Tugging at the long sleeves, the child stared up at Sam with mature disappointment.

"What do you think I sold?" whispered child Dean.

And in that moment Sam understood as he gazed upon the ghosting goodness that remained in his brother. Flickering in and out, Dean's dying green eyes hung low in the hollow face. Dean sold his soul the first time for Sam and then sold his humanity for a bit of peace. But after the whole incident with Alastair and Sam's betrayal, Dean didn't merely sell himself to the demon within him, he surrendered completely.

He gave the demon the ultimate package: his remaining humanity, his sanity…his existence.

Cause despite the brave face, Dean was being hunted by every known angel and demon out there. He was powerful enough to attract the Horsemen. In the end, Dean would either be the angels or the demons' demise. Yet…the light faded away, Dean's form towering once more before the cracked fireplace. In true Winchester fashion, Dean took no side, carving literally a spot for himself. This new creature would not bow to anyone and if killing Sam meant protecting him and his brother from the servitude of before then so be it.

To Dean there was no middle ground anymore and if he was stuck on this train wreck then like hell, he would be the one who did the steering this time.

Collapsing his head against his chest, Sam felt tears run down his cheeks as those unforgiving eyes stared at him. God, how could he be so blind? How could their Dad be so blind in how much Dean was broken? How much his brother loved them? How far his suicidal streak went?

"I'm sorry, I'm so sorry Dean…god I'm so sorry," chocked Sam and he felt every word.

"You don't get to apologize…not anymore." With a mere sniff, Dean painfully broke Sam's legs slowly. Sam's body arched against the glass, screams filling the small room.

"Dean! Stop! Dean!" Sam's cries subsided into a whimper. "Please…Dean…"

Hazel eyes bleeding with the want for recognition rose, waiting to see the demon before him. Famine's voice whispered in the back of his head, "_Just think about it Sam that could be you and Dean fighting right at this moment_."

Inhaling a shaky breath, Sam schooled his face. If Dean could take this pain, then so could he. To his surprise, the child was back distress on his face.

"Sammy."

Sam locked eyes with the goodness in his brother, the one thing that kept the murderous creature at bay, the one thing that kept Dean human. "I-"

Then the child doubled over as the anger returned, the grown-up version swarming over the child. "Shut up!" Dean snarled, as he waved his hand, slashing at the air. Behind Sam, the window exploded sending shards into his back. Another scream chocked the air. "You're not sorry. You'd do anything to get a hit."

The taunt snapped something in Sam. Pushing his pain aside, anger blazed his own eyes. "Yes I am an addict and I've lied. But not this time…not on something like this!"

"Oh like how you promised not to leave?" The floor groaned as Dean's face twitched with the need to strike out. "The next thing I know you left for Stanford, for Ruby. So sorry if I don't believe your promises."

"Dean!"

"You left. Dad left. Mom left! Everyone left me, but not Alastair." The bloodlust hanging in those gray pitless eyes seemed to back down at the mention of the demon's name. "No…" Dean's voice grew softer, speaking with a longing that twisted Sam's gut as he realized for the first time how deep the trauma ran. "He stayed with me every day for 40 years and a handful of days topside."

Then the rage was back, smoothing Dean's face into a mask of deathly silence. He locked his eyes onto Sam's scrapped, bleeding form stretched out before him. Somewhere deep in him, he knew this was wrong, that doing this to Sam was not him. But Dean knew what he had to do, what Alastair taught him. If someone doesn't listen, then force them too. Create a scenario where the only option is for them to choose your way. Taking in a deep breath, Dean hardened his heart knowing he would have to apply this lesson fully to his brother.

"He didn't leave me to the wolves every night." For a moment, Dean could picture Sam's retort. Hear the plea summarizing how leaving him hanging for hours on end on the verge of death, breathing over his exposed nerves was not torture. That sometimes Alastair let the more mindless demons rip into him while he cleaned his tools. Those moments were not the wolves to Dean. No the wolves were when Sam left, leaving him at the mercy of his nightmares. That despite the drinking and fake smiles, Sam called him weak and broke his trust when Dean was at his weakest. His brother stabbed him in the heart and it hurt more than what Alastair ever did to him.

The accusation rang in the room, filled with misery and twisted admiration. Sam felt himself wanting to puke again at how loyal Dean was to Alastiar. "He's-"

"He was everything I wanted," replied the dead voice. "Alastair gave me a way to find peace, however twisted it is. And I'm not letting it go. Not ever." Reaching out, Dean crooked his fingers sinking imaginary blades into Sam's body.

Jerking against his bindings, Sam felt the screams build in him as searing hot blades sliced and twisted everywhere in him. In the drowning red sea of pain, a realization dawned to the youngest Winchester. It was suicidal and he might die but he was desperate enough to save Dean. Forcing his tearing eyes open, Sam bit his lip hard to prevent any screams from erupting out of him.

Heaving in breaths to still the agony, he kept a stern gaze onto Dean, his stubbornness shining forth. "Go ahead, have your way with me Dean. If this is what you want, if you hate me that much, do it."

The pain intensified sending every nerve on fire. Yet, Sam remained steadfast, searching past the mask of his tormenter. And there he was, standing quietly near the fireplace a small red fire-truck by his feet. Panting, Sam wanted nothing more to than run up to Dean but the ropes held fast.

"Dean!"

The boy looked up at him splashing ice-cold reality onto the older brother. Wearing a small pair of Batman pajamas, the four-year old with a mop of hair stared up at him, pure anguish written on his small face. "Why?"

Sam masked his pain with a big warm smile. "Because I won't leave you, not anymore."

"You'll die." The darting of green eyes to the floor tried to hide the rest of the sentence. "_For someone like me_?"

As much as he wanted to smack Dean for thinking how low he thought himself, Sam opted to continuing smile, pouring his love into every action. "I don't care. Dean, you're not worthless or tainted or weak…you're everything I need to keep going."

Dean slid his attention back up to Sam, wariness tightening his face. "You don't need me."

No longer able to hold them back, tears streamed down Sam's face. "I do, Dean!"

"Why?" snapped a sharp voice that shouldn't belong to a four-year old.

Total conviction burst through the next words. "Because you're my brother."

Surprise flew over Dean's face but before Sam could say more dark smoke wrapped around him, ripping into him as it tried to shred him out of Dean's mind.

"No!" Reaching out blindly, Sam lashed out as an old famliar power exploded within every cell of his body. Reaching out, he kept his sight on the light of familiar green eyes. "Dean!" Then the blind powering erupted out of him wiping out everything he knew.

-------------------------------

Dean stared at the abyss as the abyss stared back.

"You broke the deal," he whispered in the empty green yard where the tire swing dangled like a hangman's noose from the dead tree.

The abyss wearing his face snarled back. "He's going to hurt us again. Sam's not Sam anymore."

"He's my brother and he's still in there somewhere. I won't hurt him." Dean stepped away from the demon in him, every ounce of the darkness he carried in him since the night of the fire. The edge of the crevice the two stood by crumbled under the missing weight. "I'm tired and broken and probably going to die again, but I'm not going to torture Sam. I'll do anything, but I won't cross that line." Locking onto gray eyes, Dean felt the burden of Hell's torture and Heaven's goal for him crash onto his shoulders. "I'm done."

And that was that. For the two were one and no matter which side was dominate, the love for Sam was always forthright. The statues of big brother replaced the title of future Grand Inquisitor. The demon shifted as he felt something strange warm this heart and as much as it was foreign it felt familiar. It felt like _Home_.

The demon in him curled his fingers into fists as the crevice collapsed in on itself, closing the gap. Sighing, Dean gazed down as his powers flooded away down into the Pit. He was human, or as human as it got to having a demon infused into you. Turning, Dean smelled clean rain trickle down onto him. Hearing soft flapping of wings, he locked eyes with an angel who stood quietly behind him. Caution tightened his chest, yet trust peeked out through the ashes. "You going to tear me apart again?"

"No Dean," whispered Cas. "You're whole and that will not change." Reaching out he rested his hand on Dean's scar. "Just be the strong man I know you are and do let this darkness override you again."

Dean felt the goodbye. "Cas-"

Blue eyes silenced him in a silent plea. "Dean, you cannot trust any angels except Sealtiel. Zachariah never wanted to stop the Apocalypse. They will hunt you down, angels and demons alike, for you are the only one that can defeat Lucifer." Glancing up, the angel sensed his brothers nearing the small cabin. He had stayed too long, his dying grace had caught their attention. "Archangels are nearby. I will hold them off to buy you time to heal."

Unconsciously, Dean shook his head. Hate towards the angel still bubbled in the back of his mind. Yet the reasonable part of him, the human part, noticed how far Castiel cared for him. How despite everything, Cas was truly sacrificing everything for him. "You're dying…" Dean couldn't hold back the chock of fear as he watched someone else near to him leave him behind. The demon brushed against his heart. "Don't do this…"

Castiel seemed to sense his thoughts. A true small smile graced his face. Bending forward, he brushed his lips across Dean's forehead placing a tiny kiss full of benediction there. Green eyes widened as he heard the low voice whisper, "I forgive you Dean. Find peace in that you are never alone." Leaning back, the angel soaked in the face of the man he had risked everything for and only felt utter serenity with the decision. "Cover your eyes, Dean."

Then he was gone in a flash of white except unlike last time with the tearing and searing heat, Dean felt peace and love flood his cold limbs with gentleness.

---------------------------------------------------------------------

A/N: Hear you guys go, some tissues and take as much left over Halloween candy you want. Hopefully I can update sooner with the next chapter, which I'm thinking I only have one or two more left.


	29. Chapter 29

A/N: Oh man, I wish it was Thursday already but then I don't want it to be cause then there won't be anymore new eps. Either way, as strange as it is, I hope Lucifer lives. Mark P. (the guy who plays Jacob) is just way too cool to leave just yet.

**Break time is over**

He felt like a train had run over him. No wait it was more like a semi-truck running him over then coming back and doing it all over again. Yeah, that was it…maybe…maybe not. Either way, his throat was like a desert and his head was in beat with his heart. Fingers feeling like pure lead, Sam twitched underneath an itchy cover. The twanging of bed springs stabbed into his back, the annoyance and uncomfortable nature pulling him awake.

Groaning, Sam peeped out from under his eyes, feeling as if they had been closed for ages. He half-expected to find himself in the Pit, fires flaming all around him. Another part was expecting to be blind. And a small part was still thinking that maybe he was still inside his brother's twisted mind.

"D-Dean," his voice sounded like sand-paper, making his cough into the dry, dusty air.

"Sam," an old, fatherly voice warmed his chilled body. The creaking of footboards filled the pause, "Boy, you awake?"

"B-Bobby." Rising off the mattress Sam pushed himself backwards to rest his back against the iron rod headboard. Blurred hazel eyes focused slowly, the grit from his sleep cracking from the corners. Bobby walked slowly forward, dropping himself into a chair positioned right to the bed. The man seemed to have aged drastically, more gray to his beard, the hat tugged even lower onto his brow. In his weathered hands, Bobby held out a small glass of water.

Reaching out, Sam smiled softly his thanks before letting the ice-cold refreshing water wash away the desert. Emptying the glass, he whispered softly as his fingers ran over the condensation. "Where's Dean?"

"Don't know." Bobby shifted to lean against the chair, eyes taking in Sam's face checking to see if everything was alright. "When I got back, handcuffs were lying on the ground. The idjit used one of the metal springs to pick-lock it. And you were out on the mattress…" Voice trailing, a dark look fell over his face.

Foreboding filled the air. Griping the glass tighter, Sam licked his lips. "What is it?"

"Just you lying there… reminded me of some days long ago…" Sam could hear the unspoken words, "_thankfully though you weren't dead_."

Swinging his legs off the side, Sam felt a shiver run down his spine. He knew deep in his soul what Bobby was talking about. His heart twisted at having this man who was like a father to him endure such a repeat. It was cruel. This man who loved them so much didn't deserve all this drama, didn't need to be dragged into this nightmare. Yet, here he was sitting quietly, reigning in his emotions to put Sam and Dean first.

Running a hand through his bedraggled hair, Sam coughed lightly, relived to feel the heaviness starting to fade away. "How long was I out?"

"Almost a week, didn't want to risk moving you." Always the ever cautious Bobby gazed up onto Sam as the lean man leaned forward to rest his arms on his knees.

"And you haven't been looking for Dean?" asked Sam quietly, not believing that Bobby would truly let Dean walk out like that.

"Hey," there's hurt in Bobby's tone, "I couldn't well leave you here alone to the elements. But if it means anything, Dean shows up from time to time to sleep and eat before heading off. He just walks out, not taking the car or anything. I don't know where the hell he goes."

His rising voice hinted at hidden one-sided arguments filling the main room during visits, frustration building in the hunter. How furniture was thrown, hands clutching desperately to a weary frame trying to shake sense into it.

"It's ok Bobby." Sam sighed, dread oozed down into his chest. "How is Dean?"

"Quiet. Doesn't say much, but when I do wrench out a verbal comeback, it's short and sweet. Otherwise, Dean keeps to himself. Good news is that I don't smell any liquor on him." Bobby's eyes traveled out to the window where he remembers meeting a small boy for the first time, trailing behind John Winchester while shielding a toddler behind him. He remembers a late night where a drunk John tells him with a voice full of regret how far Dean came from that first year after his mom died to being a perfect son and sadly a soldier.

Sam nodded, yanking Bobby back to the present. "You-"

"Get any demonic vibes from him, nope. Whatever happened, it changed him. And you're going to tell me what happened, considering on the way back there were scorched tree tops all over the place."

The stern voice makes Sam smile. "Alright." Pushing himself off the bed, Sam swayed but Bobby rose quickly offering him a shoulder to lean on. "Time to find Dean."

Shaking his head, Bobby curled an arm around Sam's waist as he swung an arm over his shoulder, "No. First off you're eating something and taking a shower. You smell worse then a zombie."

The youngest Winchester couldn't hold back a laugh. "And how do you suppose I take a shower?"

A long grin sneaked across Bobby's face. "Pioneer style, boy: a bucket and a towel."

* * *

After the adventure of washing himself, Sam felt better than ever. All aches and sores were gone, the headache now a mere throb coupled with his worry over Dean. The clean clothes didn't smell like sweat or blood, making him feel comfortable. And with that warm foundation, he felt more than ready to face his brother.

Biting into the second half of his peanut-butter and jelly sandwich, Sam told Bobby what he had missed. The Cliff-Note edition of what had occurred started with Castiel appearing in the cabin lead to a last minute journey into Dean's mind and the final battle to save the remaining goodness in his brother.

Bobby shook his head, hands nursing a beer. "So let me get this straight, you did a dream walk, talked to Dean and then what some power surge later your out."

Sam shrugged as he takes a small drink of beer. "That's about it."

Shaking his head, Bobby takes a deep drink. Sam's brow furrowed with confusion. "What?"

"Just that despite everything we've been through, this takes the icing."

Shaking his head in agreement, Sam sent a smile at Bobby. "Got that right."

"Speaking of strange things…" Bobby leaned forward, propping his arms on the table, "How you feeling? Itching for any demon blood?"

Blinking with wide eyes, Sam found himself speechless. Since he woke, he had forgotten about that little detail. Searching his mind, he waited for that hunger to rise in him, but all is quiet. "Pretty good actually, tired still but there's no craving. Maybe I burned it all out of me when I retaliated; you know one final burn-out?"

Bobby nodded idly, scratching at his beard. "Maybe…" Pushing himself backwards, he jumped, eyes widening in shock. "Geez, Dean, give me a heart attack would ya."

Sam spun in his chair, surprised to see his brother standing there in the doorway. He hadn't even heard the door open. Sending a warm relieved smile, he watched as low, cautious eyes moved from Bobby to him.

"Hey Dean." Dean narrowed his eyes, sweeping a penetrating gaze over Sam. The younger brother shifted uncomfortably, not liking the sensation that Dean was searching for something. Speaking of, the older brother shifted his shoulders underneath the normal layered clothing. The dark green work-jacket was stained with mud and there were hints of what Sam saw as dried blood on the cuffs.

Swallowing Sam kept his gaze on his brother's haggard face, taking in the deep-set lines, permanent scowl and the pale three o'clock shadow. His fingers were rimmed with dirt, knuckles cracked open were old signs of punching a solid object. Dread tickled Sam's stomach, hinting that maybe Dean was still a demon.

Bobby cleared his throat and patted at an empty place on the rickety table, "Pull up a stump and eat."

Dean shot a guarded look the jars. Dragging his caked boots backwards, he turned towards the fireplace. A low rasp fell from behind still lips. "We need more wood." Then like a ghost, he trudged silently back out into the woods.

Sam shot Bobby a worried look, in which the older man merely shrugged his own face reflecting the helplessness he felt. "Got any bright ideas?"

Outside, Dean walked with deliberate steps back towards the woods. With one swift move, he picked up the iron axe resting by the growing woodpile. Feeling the familiar weight, the eldest Winchester let his eyes wander the woods, searching for the perfect little tree. The perfect little victim.

Lips curling into a snarl, Dean's fingers curl over the handle tightening into a white-hot grip. His demon curled in the back of his mind, rattling newly minted chains. He can hear the whispers, the memories playing behind his eyelids.

He sees Sam there sitting next to the table, pale but awake. And he notices how the darkness that used to hang around Sam is gone, no longer radiating out of his brother. He's happy at first; relieved that maybe Sam is no longer damned. But then it begins to scare him as to the why. And what he doesn't know makes him angry.

Easing his grip, Dean let out a loud sigh expelling the anger with it. The darkness grew silent, the fuel dissipating once more as another battle ends. Since the moment he had woken up, heart pounding in his chest, eyes blinking away supernovas, Dean knew he was back. No longer was he drowning on a black demonic sea but now floating on a small boat, his evil tendencies lapping waves against the stern.

There was peace in those first few breaths. Then realization of what had happened came raining down. In a flash, the handcuffs were gone and spotting Sam's limp body lying on the bed, his lungs seized. Burst out of the cabin, collapsing onto the deck heaving in precious oxygen while his mind prayed that this wasn't happening again. That Sam hadn't died because of him. That he had been too late, failing once more at being a big brother.

"_I won't leave you, not anymore."_

"_Because you're my brother_."

Hope hardened in the hunter, enough for him to creep back into the cabin. Checking Sam's pulse, a flood of relief filled him. Old habits kicked in as he moved his little brother into a more comfortable position. When he was pleased with the results, Dean stood there silently deciding his next move. The sea began to rock harder within him. He was still weak, falling prey to his darker side at any moment. He needed to learn control this time.

He needed to twist Alastair's lessons onto himself.

Spotting a collapsed tree, its roots sticking out of the ground while the top crushed into the greens of stronger trees, Dean let out a dead feral grin. He couldn't deal with Sam being awake, not right now. He wasn't strong enough to be a brother yet.

Not when looking at him, he felt like a child. Sam had seen him at his worse and it made Dean feel sick to his stomach. He was the older brother here, he didn't need saving…he didn't need Sam risking his life for him. It was suppose to be the other way around.

Chocking, Dean pulled up the ax and rammed it hard into the wood. Falling into the mindless hacking of metal into wood, he let out all his helplessness. Until he felt ready for a hunt…till he could trust himself with Sam, this would have to do. The method worked for the past few days, out here by himself with no distractions and plenty of inanimate objects to take out his despair when the demon in him rustled.

Loud cracks split the air as he yanked the ax out before bearing it down once more. The sun peeked out behind the cloudy sky, hinting at an ever pure blue sky. And Dean found that he couldn't dare look up. He couldn't bear to see even a hint of sky without being reminded of Cas.

Cas the angel stood by him when he fell once more back into hell. The one person, outside Sam, who sacrificed his life to stop the self-destruction Dean was becoming. While Sam offered salvation, Cas gave him redemption. The one person Dean found himself daring to call a friend in this wake of a nightmare was gone.

Grief tickled his throat and moistened his eyes. Whistling in the wind, ash rained down from the burnt tree-tops. A fresh reminder of a battle fought above in the pristine air. Ending when Castiel using his dying breath to draw the archangels away from him.

Sniffing back his pain, Dean continued to slam the axe into the wood the adrenaline of his scarred, tarnished soul fueling every move. After what seemed like seconds but actually half an hour, the tree gave one final groan before snapping in half collapsing like a pile of bones at the hunter's feet.

The crushed pine trees to his right sprung upwards towards the sun, free from their burdens. Panting, Dean wiped sweat from his brow resting the ax against the log.

"Who are you?" Despite no longer having his demonic prowess up front, he could smell the angels. It was like a cold, harsh air from high altitudes than the air tinged forever slightly with sulfur.

A slim woman with her blond hair tied back in a loose bun looked up at him with brown eyes that seemed to glow golden whenever a breeze passed over her. She wore a simple white blouse over a pair of black jeans. Bare feet rested in a small patch of earthen soil that had been spilt from the upheaval. "You know who I am."

Narrowing his eyes, Dean could feel a burning presence caress over him. Recognition curled defensively over his frame. "Cas…"

"Is dead, I know," whispered back the angel. The hunter couldn't help but notice as her face darkened eyes grieving at the loss. "His rebellion has caused a stirring amongst the Host. Castiel was loyal…" She tilted her chin upwards, locking penetrating eyes onto a man that was more Castiel's charge, then hers. It was all she could do for her fallen brother.

"Dean!"

The pair turned as one towards Sam who was running up to them, gun pointed at the angel.

"Who the hell are you?" A bright fire blazed behind the words, full of love and protection.

Dean sighed, spotting once more at how reversed their roles where now. "It's ok, she's an angel."

Skidding to a halt, Sam blinked in surprise, almost dropping his gun at the sound of Dean's rough voice. Shaking his head, the younger Winchester's mouth opened in surprise. "I recognize you…you're the nurse from the hospital…after Dean…"

The woman bowed her head in acknowledgement, "I take on many forms, but I prefer this one when dealing with humans. My name is Sealtiel and you can say I am Dean's archangel."

"Oh."

Coughing lightly, Dean pulled Sealtiel's attention back on him. He might not be able to handle Sam or his own self right now, but there was another issue bothering him that could be solved. "Cas said Zac never wanted to stop the Apocalypse, you want to explain?"

A blank expression fell over Sealtiel's face, yet her eyes shone with a righteous glint. "I am figuring much out still. However, Castiel told me everything he knew when I helped free him from solitaire. It seems that Zachariah decided sometime after you broke the first seal that the Apocalypse might be a good thing for this planet. If we let all the seals break and let our fallen brother rise and let you kill him, Paradise would come. That finally, this never-ending war would indeed end."

"And you knew about this?" hissed Sam's accusation.

"No," Sealtiel shook her head, blinking wide eyes at Sam. "From what I can tell, only Zachariah and Uriel knew what was truly going on. If the rest of the Host knew, civil war would erupt. But Castiel mentioned Uriel converting powerful archangels to his side, telling them to lay off slightly, on protecting the seals, at least enough not to attract attention."

Sam stepped closer to the angel, his mind racing to connect the dots. All the while, he felt boiling disappointment towards these angels. What kind of creatures was he praying too that would decide to start the freaking Apocalypse? "So why let Dean…"

In a curt voice, void of any emotions, the angel replied, "Because Dean is the only one who can kill Lucifer. I can only guess that Zachariah thought it would be good thing if he also had the demonic strength to aid him. Like I said, I do not know all the details."

"And Sam…" whispered Dean, "My mission to stop him…"

Blinking Sealtiel smiled sadly at her charge. "As you were meant to break the first, your brother is meant to break the last. Hence why I am here."

Confusion tugged at their features. Bracing her shoulders, Sealtiel lowered her voice till it felt as if the earth shook. "The last seal is being broken as we speak, but where and how I do not know. That is why I seeked you out, believing that where ever Sam is-"

"Ground zero," finished Dean as he folded his arms across his chest. "But no such luck, I'm guessing."

"No," Sealtiel's voice rang with disappointment. A cold wind rustled through the leaves carrying with it a growing urgency.

Sam rolled his eyes in exasperation, "Oh how helpful."

"What was the last seal?" stated Dean, ignoring his brother as his fears of Hell rising and being reacquainted with old friends quieted his troubled soul.

"Lilith." A deafening silence fell upon the trio as if the name itself could conjure up the oldest demon in existence.

"Oh God," Sam whispered in a timid voice, his face paling in color. The other Winchester and the angel both turned to look at him, their faces cracking with hidden emotions. Swallowing, Sam turned to look at Dean, eyes welling up in fear.

-_St. Mary's_ _Covent, Maryland_-

War wiped his sword clean as the black blood of Lilith spread out onto the stone floor. Next to him Famine smeared some blood onto the white dress. The pair stood in an abandoned convent before a desecrated altar. Both wore tattered clothes, their borrowed bodies falling apart slowly underneath their care.

"Lilith was always full of herself, thinking we came here to side with her," muttered Famine as she rolled over the dead body face-up, the movement making her ache.

Chuckling, War slid the sword gently back into its' scabbard. "I guess in a way it was always meant to be Sam. I can't believe you got him to agree."

"You complaining?" Famine sighed, not sharing the same giddiness as her brother.

War grinned darkly as he watched the blood finish making its circle, "Hell no. I mean we all knew it had to be Sam dealing the killer blow or me as back-up. There was no other way."

"There was with Dean."

Hearing the dead tone, War wanted to beat the man out of her yet he stilled himself. Spirals of blood were merging with each other in the middle of the circle. "Moping about him still?"

"Well, he is the one that got away. And we could have had so much fun with him." Famine looked out of the window watching the reflection of pale light begin to pierce out from the floor. "But then that stupid angel had to send us hurtling towards the sun, dragging Dean back towards the light."

"It doesn't mean anything; you saw how far Dean was." War felt himself purr with satisfaction at how violent Nicor and Dean had fought each other. "There's no going back to being one-hundred percent human for that kid."

Famine glanced hopefully up at her brother, the whiteness outlining her face against the dark backdrop.

"They wouldn't dare purify him because they would end up killing him."

A volcano of light erupted, blinding and buzzing filling their senses. Their true boss was coming.

Famine smiled at the thought. "You're right. Dean can join us, it's not like it's the end of the world."

"Yeah and with Lucifer and the rest of the gang running around, we'll wear him out to the point that he has no choice."

Nodding, Famine seemed to bounce with renewed energy. Her and War's powers fully awakening in the harsh environment. "I owe him a gift afterall."

"That's the spirit." War jerked his thumb towards the open doorway. "Now let's rock n roll. We might no longer be on vacation and work for the same junkless boss but there's a planet ripe to burn."

In a thundering explosion, Famine and War joined the white column as Lucifer and all of Hell took to the night sky of Maryland.

-_Woods_-

In the back of her mind, she watched with dread as a dark curtain fell upon the Earth. Sealtiel sighed as she stepped up and placed her hands on both the boys' chests silencing any further conversations. Despite the changing of the tide, at that very moment she wanted to sing in joy so loud that maybe her dead brother would hear her sweet voice. The darkness from before remained in the eldest hunter but the blinding goodness and love outshone the scars. Dean Winchester truly was a special human.

And Sam Winchester was also special. Special in his own righteousness shining just as brightly despite the contamination of the demon blood now lying dormant once more. Truly these humans were God's beautiful creations, for how they could survive through such turmoil and yet remain steadfast in their blinding love for each other. Squaring her shoulders, Sealtiel knew which side she was on as she gazed up the Winchester brothers.

"Lucifer's free." Warmth emitted from her palms burning wards upon their ribs. Both humans flinched, but neither uttered a sound. Stepping back, Sealtiel took in the two men. "I also no longer trust Zacheriah and his plans for both of you. You should be safe in your travels. No angel will be able to find you." In her mind, the call to arms rang loud and clear. "I must go now, for the true battle begins today."

Gazing once more at the two, Sealtiel couldn't help the ghost of the smile. They might be lost, their relationship strained and even broken, but they were family. And all that mattered was that in the end, Dean and Sam would find their way back to each other. She didn't know why but the words slipped past her lips. "Good luck." Then in a flurry of wings, the archangel disappeared onto the frontlines.

Left alone once more, Dean ran a hand over his chest not knowing how he felt about being marked by an angel once again. But that was an issue for another day. "What did you do Sam?"

Sam had locked his eyes onto his own chest, as if he could see the wards themselves. "I just wanted her dead."

"What. Did. You. Do?"

"You were fighting that demon back in the hanger. I had to distract Famine somehow and save you at the same time." Desperation shone from Sam's hunched figure, brown eyes daring to look up. "So I told her to kill Lilith, to repay the debt."

Dean stared at Sam with cold eyes that the younger expected them to roll into white. Yet they remained green, but the same detached rage shimmered around the older brother. It was all too close a remainder of the demon lurking in his brother.

"I'm sorry. I didn't know."

Silence stilled the air enough to hear a small pin drop.

Then a low voice full of understanding warmed the air around the brothers.

"I know, Sammy."

* * *

A.N. And there ya go, what you think I would end their troubles like that ;) So yeah, there will be one more last chapter, just don't know when I'll post it. Probably sometime next week. Otherwise take care!!! And here, have some left-over birthday cake to tie you over.


	30. Chapter 30

A/N: Oh man, I can't believe this is my last chapter with this story. *sniffs* I want to thank all of you who have stuck through thick and thin with this story, cause if it wasn't for you guys I would have never made it this far. On that note, I present the last chappie as a way to kick-off the Holiday season.

**One season ends, another begins**

A satisfying click of a barrel locking in place tingled against calloused palms. Hunched over the trunk, Dean tossed the shotgun into the army green duffle bag, eyes scanning the rest of the arsenal. Already, he had grabbed a couple of newly sharpened knives and a handful ammo. Licking his lips lightly, Dean's hand shot out to grab the dented silver flask of holy water. Next, he grabbed a small canister filled only with loose rock salt. Running the check-list through his head, the hunter knew he had everything he needed to kill about anything. It was just a shame he didn't know what killed an angel.

And from the sounds of it, he might need that certain information soon. His mind still reeled that the angels wanted to start the Apocalypse. But another part chided him for placing false hope that angels would be the good guys. Really, in all his experience, he would have thought not to trust anything supernatural. Blue eyes flashed before him, as if condescending him for such ill thoughts. Shaking his head, Dean sighed loudly that in truth Cas and Sealtiel were his only allies, but now that list dwindled to one.

Grief clenched at Dean's heart. "Stupid moron, what the hell was he thinking," muttered Dean. He wasn't worth it.

"_Hell on Earth, for all of creation_. _It's literal…you of all people should appreciate what that means_." Cas's words rang loudly in his ears, as if speaking to him in his true skull-splinting voice. He knew all right what the expression meant. He even knew about Lucifer to some extent.

Dean heard the stories down in the Pit once a week like he was in Sunday school. They were whispered fairy tales, things that would have made the Brothers Grimm squirm and Disney flat out have a heart attack. Lucifer was a thing rumbling in the background, his presence never seen but hovering just outside. He was the Boogie man and Santa Clause rolled into one. He was supposed to be the ultimate villain, bring destruction topside as salvation for the demons. Lucifer was their father.

And Dean could have cared less. He was like Alastair, didn't give a damn about Lucifer or those morbid fairy tales. Where was this elusive Lucifer, who supposedly was down there with them? That fallen angel was not his father. There were three men Dean would always consider for that role, John on one end, Alastair on the other and Bobby smack dab in the middle.

Adrenaline hummed in tune with his darker self, finding a common ground Dean sought for the past weeks. To see the faces of Famine, War, Zachariah or any other demon when he pulled the trigger killing Lucifer would satisfy him till the day he died…again. He wasn't going to bow down before anyone. He might have lost his footing along the way, taking a slight detour.

Dean Winchester was back and he was taking names. He had his little brother to look out for once more.

In the end it always came down to Sam. After Sealtiel left, Sam had grown quiet; the weight of what he had done darkening everything. The Apocalypse started all because Sam wanted to save his brother.

Because Dean hadn't been strong enough to see what Ruby was doing or kill Nicor right off the bat. Slamming a round into his pistol, Dean checked his safety before gently tucking it behind his pants. Anger warmed his fingers as conviction scrubbed Sam clean of all his sins. Dean was the first seal. He started the End of the World and it was his duty to clean his mess. Not Sam's, never Sam's. If anything, his brother's only fault was with trusting Ruby. And that alone was something Dean feared he would never forgive Sam for.

"Dean." His name trembled on the air, full of uncertainty.

Green eyes flashed to a taller man, who seemed tiny against the backdrop of the falling apart cabin. The younger Winchester seemed to still be nursing his wounds after telling the news to Bobby. The elder hunter gave them both a hard smack on the head, mumbling how they were a bunch of idjits.

Feeling he made his point, Bobby told Dean to drive him to town, where he somehow snagged another car. All the time, Singer muttered about how he had go home and research on how to kill the Devil cause the stupid Winchester boys broke the final seal. Yet despite the harsh words, love was present in each glance and tone.

"_You boys watch out for each other now, God knows how much you two need each other. So no more demon blood or demon torturing, you hear me_. _Or else I'll put the fear of God in you myself._"

Clearing his throat, Dean kept his face neutral. Seeing the hurt in those hazel eyes clenched at his chest, making him want to hurt the one thing that did this to his brother. But Ruby was dead and all that remained was himself. And he couldn't die, not yet anyway.

"What is it Sam?"

Swallowing, the younger brother shivered despite it being actually warm in the afternoon sun. "I-"

In the air, birds chirped with urgency, while leaves crackled in the wake of tiny footsteps. Drifting like a ghost, apologizes and guilt trips hung between the two men. Dean almost pictured in near an identical voice his brother telling him not to blame himself. A scowl tugged down the thin lips. Truthfully Dean was sick of the apologizing. As if in agreement, the demon rattled once again.

Confusion darted on Sam's face, wondering what he had done in the mere seconds of his arrival. Beating him to the punch, Dean asked in a clip tone. "How do you do it?"

"What?" Surprise brightened Sam's face as the befuddled word fell past a gawked mouth.

"Dealing with…" Dean waved at his chest.

It took a moment but then understanding eased Sam's tense shoulders. A shaky smile crept upwards. "I guess we're finally on even ground huh?"

A retort that they were not, that he had sunken further than Sam hung on the tip of Dean's tongue. Sam was only a baby when that yellow-eyed son of a bitch dripped demon blood into him. That, the blood was something separate in Sam, some disease his brother had lost control over but could be healed maybe in time. Because for Dean, his evilness was his own choosing, that it wasn't some alien in him but a part of his soul.

"Look I know-"

"Sam." The stern voice signaled that Sam has lost the moment, Dean closing up once more to the world. Slamming the trunk closed, he fixed a warning look at his brother. "I get it now. I've always known you were stronger than me. But knowing first hand what you have to go through each day…battling this thing in you…don't kick yourself too hard. You've held true to yourself for 26 years and counting, that's longer than anyone else would have."

"Right," glancing down, Sam kicked at a rock trying to hide the uneasiness of having the exact same words he said to Dean used against him. His soul wanted to push forward the conversation, but this was Dean. And this was ice-cold reality. He would just have to show that he was here for him.

"Now." Coughing, Dean waited till Sam stared meagerly up at him. Within a face so familiar to him like his own, Dean realized that their relationship was truly broken. He couldn't trust Sam entirely anymore. Heck, he couldn't trust himself. And in that moment, he knew Sam thought the same thing. But they still needed each other, despite how bad things had gotten. Sam had shown that to Dean and he could only dream about repaying the debt.

"What do we do?" whispered Sam, sounding like a lost child instead of that stoic brother Dean remembered vaguely in his mind.

The older Winchester spared a glance down at the road. "I figured we go to Dad's old storage room and pick up some supplies. Who knows, he might have something there to the kill the Devil with."

"Yeah."

Turning, Dean flashed his infamous cocky smirk emitting a confidence he could only dream of. Already his mind raced with situations of him dying or running into other 'old friends.' Either way, nothing ended well. "We handle this like any case, Sam. And you know what?"

Sam's brow scrunched up in, trying to figure out what his insane brother was thinking now. "What?"

"We show him a warm Winchester welcome."

Sam laughed at Dean's cheerful tone. Dean chuckled in response, lightly smacking on Sam's shoulder as he walked by. "Move your ass, Samantha. We're burning daylight here."

Sam grinned and hopped into the Impala. They both knew that despite the teasing atmosphere, things needed to be resolved. The ground was still shaky, rocky boards deteriorating under unsaid words. But for this one split second in the protective isolation given to them by an angel, the brothers took one more deep breath of peace before the final plunge. Then a loud purr filled the air before a black beauty roared down the rocky stretch of road.

The End.

* * *

A/N: And now I give you Season 5. I tried to end it in such a way that whatever happened in this story could very well ease into Season 5. Well, thanks again for everything you guys. Have a wonderful Thanksgiving and a Happy Holiday season!!!


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